


Allies, Lovers, Friends and Siblings

by CLH_CLH



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Brotherly Love, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jaime is a good brother, Romance, Smut, So is Tyrion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 107,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CLH_CLH/pseuds/CLH_CLH
Summary: Jaime Lannister keeps his hand and returns to King's Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. Disenchanted with his sister he aligns himself more closely with his brother than ever. As circumstances bring Jaime and Sansa Stark closer can they overcome all that should keep them apart? Meanwhile Tyrion and Margaery attempt to help the couple and find themselves developing feelings of their own. A pairing's centric fic, taking place mostly in King's Landing.





	1. Return of the Prodigal

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first multi-chaptered fic so I hope its enjoyable! In terms of the backstory and how I envisage the characters I am drawing almost exclusively from the TV show, I will be using some book elements to enhance things where they do not conflict with the show.
> 
> I want to say a massive thank you to Catherina 1996 my lovely, inspirational beta up to chapter 31. She is completely diligent, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> I own nothing.

Jaime gripped the reigns tightly with both hands: had he been the man he was before all this, he would have dug his spurs into the beast, urging it onward, far past the columns of men — nothing would have prevented him from rejoining Cersei as fast as was possible. He was very far away from being the man he had been before all this, however. Now, he was a man who knew what it was to fight and lose, to be held captive, to be completely at the mercy of those who cared little for his fate or worse — who would rejoice at his demise. As far as his appearance went, he was now in far better condition than he had been: his father had naturally ensured he was bathed and provided with clean clothes, although the said garb hung off his emaciated frame. Nevertheless, his hair remained unkempt and his face unshaven: war was no place for personal grooming, and if the combined Lannister-Tyrell forces were not on a battlefield when Jaime and the Maid of Tarth happened upon them, they were certainly headed toward one. 

He thought of the wench then, his stubborn, stalwart companion on the journey that had started when Catelyn Stark defied her son for the chance of saving her daughters. Brienne had blanched when they had seen the golden roses flying beside the Lannister lions as they’d reached the camp. He would have told her to run then, if he’d thought she would consider such a practical but dishonourable suggestion even for a second. He’d managed to ensure they were brought straight to his father’s tent. Jaime wondered if it was the closest his sire had ever come to feeling surprise. Tywin had stood, approached him, grasped his shoulders, his eyes taking in his son’s poor physical condition, the array of small injuries, the bedraggled hair and clothes.  
“Jaime. You escaped the Starks.”  
It had not been a question: Tywin expected nothing less of his son, but, not for the first time, his son would disappoint him.  
“I did not escape, father, Catelyn Stark let me go. She wishes to barter the release of her daughters: I was escorted here by her sworn shield, Lady Brienne of Tarth.”  
Jaime had prayed even Brienne would have the good sense to know this was not the time to declare she was not a lady. Tywin had barely glanced her way, and his eyes, which had softened upon the return of his erstwhile son, had acquired the metallic glint Jaime was more familiar with.  
“And you agreed to this? A negotiation you had no authority to enter into? I was under the impression the armies of the North were being led by Robb Stark — did he approve of his mother’s attempts to barter?”  
Before Jaime could speak, his father had continued.  
“It is of no consequence. The Starks have been foolish enough to let you slip through their fingers, and you are safely returned to us. In any case, your sister was careless enough to let the younger girl escape King’s Landing, and nothing has been seen of her since Ned Stark lost his head.”  
Jaime had heard Brienne’s sharp intake of breath at that. He had watched as his father returned to his writing desk, always a sign that a discussion was closed. After some moments, Tywin looked up:  
“Jaime, you are clearly in no condition to command any part of this army, but I will be damned if my son will ride into King’s Landing looking like a vagabond — go with my squire and wash.”  
As they followed the lad from the tent, Jaime had grabbed Brienne’s arm, knowing he was short of time:  
“Wench, you need to go, and you need to go now: if the Tyrells find you, I won’t be able to protect you from their wrath.”  
Predictably, she had glared at him, and he had swiftly changed his approach:  
“You heard my father: Arya Stark isn’t in the capital, by all accounts she’s a wild little creature, she could be somewhere out in the kingdoms. Perhaps she’ll try to make her way back to the Stark camp or to her brother on the wall.”  
In truth, Jaime had little faith in what he was saying. He’d experienced first-hand the brutality of life on the roads, without the protection of a large retinue. His main objective was to get the wench to safety: no one would believe her ridiculous story about a shadow killing Renly Baratheon, and while she had safely delivered him to Tywin, he wasn’t fully confident his father would defy his Tyrell allies when he had little to gain from it. Brienne looked him square in the eye:  
“And the Lady Sansa? Will you ensure that she is safely returned to her mother? I will not leave unless you swear to do so.”  
In spite of everything Jaime had almost laughed: an oath from the dishonourable Kingslayer? Only Brienne of Tarth could set store in such things.  
“I’ll swear it, wench, as long as Stannis Baratheon hasn’t torn her in two as a traitor, she is my nephew’s betrothed.”  
He’d been harsh, he knew, but he was short of time and the realisation that he was almost on his way back to Cersei had caused tension to seep through him. He had done what he could for Brienne: Tywin had been amenable to providing her with a good horse, supplies, and even a lad to act as a squire, and he had let her slip away unobtrusively. A Lannister always pays his debts. Jaime wondered if it was the last he’d ever see of the wench.

Jaime rode on, his thoughts drifting to darker memories. There had been a time when he’d thought plunging a sword into the back of the king he’d been sworn to protect was the worst thing that could happen to him. That had been before he’d been a chained prisoner, starved and taunted by a boy. Still, even that had been nothing compared to the brutality he and Brienne had been shown by Locke: notwithstanding his outwardly arrogant persona, Jaime had felt fear many times in his life. But the sheer terror and despair he had been brought to by the Brave Companions had shaken him to his core. They had told him over and over again, he would be nothing without his sword hand, they could take it from him any time they chose. Locke would have his men stand on his hand, force him to hold it over a fire; he had already been physically weak, and they had bled him frequently, exacerbating his condition, the cuts marred his limbs. By the end of it all, several of his fingers had been broken and then Locke had forced his sword into his hand, the whole band laughing as he tried to fight. Not even when he had been imprisoned by his enemies or called “Kingslayer” far and wide, had he felt as wretched as when he had seen how little he really had and how easily it could be taken from him.  
Perhaps, he should thank the Maiden in her mercy, he reflected sardonically, that the marsh fever had struck the band before they could maim him irrevocably, and, by pretending to be afflicted like the rest, he and Brienne had been able to escape. He shook his head, as if to free himself from these reflections. There was no point in dwelling on all that had come before: he was free now, he was riding back to Cersei, every beat of the horse’s hooves bringing him closer to her. 

As they approached King’s Landing, the tension within him increased to a fever pitch. Jaime was not unfamiliar with the reaction of a man’s body and soul to battle, but this was completely different, less a craving for release and more a feeling of losing all control. He was not in command of men, and, as they entered the city walls and made for the Red Keep, it was all he could do not to abandon his steed and run, for although this would not bring him to his destination quicker, it would at least give an outlet to his feelings. He did run once inside the Keep. She would be in Maegor’s Holdfast: that was where the women and children were meant to wait. However, when he reached his destination, he found his cousin Lancel, whimpering on the ground. He sent the men accompanying him to carry his cousin to a maester. The boy had looked terrified when he laid eyes on Jaime, but Jaime had no time for boys, no time for anything.  
“Cersei, where is she?” he had asked.  
“The throne room,” the youth had gasped out.  
The tension was becoming unbearable, he felt as if his body would snap. He approached through the passageways used by the Kingsguard coming to the throne from behind. He heard her voice before he saw her, but he couldn’t make out the words over the buzzing in his ears. He approached the throne and, for the second time that night, spoke her name as he stepped forward.  
“Cersei.”  
There she was, as beautiful as ever. He noticed Tommen on her lap and then a small vial in her hand. Instinctively, he moved to grab it; he couldn’t say how he knew what it was, but he knew. She looked up at him.  
“Jaime,” she breathed, standing, moving away from their son and towards him. Her face seemed to change as she took in his appearance, and she moved no closer.  
“What have they done to you?”  
Again, he moved to grab the vial, but she held it tight. He looked into those green eyes, the mirror of his own, but before he could speak the throne room door was flung open to reveal Tywin Lannister. 

 

He slept long and well. When was the last time he had slept in a bed? His mind may have been in turmoil, but his body demanded its due. When he did wake, it was to another familiarity turned novel: a hot bath. As soothing as the water was, he did not linger: it was the first time he’d been alone, and he felt uncomfortable looking at his ravaged frame. As he dressed, he was acutely aware of how his clothes hung off him. He thought about the way Cersei had looked at him last night.  
“What have they done to you?”  
There had been no further chance to speak once their father had arrived, and when he had turned from his sire back to her, the vial was gone. Now he had been summoned to his father’s chambers in the Tower of the Hand, and he fully expected both his siblings to be there. Cersei was seated, her composure completely recovered, with a glass of wine in her hand; his father was writing at his desk. Tywin barely glanced at him and motioned for him to sit. Jaime felt dread rise within him.  
“Where is Tyrion?”  
This time, Tywin did not look up at all:  
“It would appear that your brother decided to take an active part in the defence of the city walls. He has sustained a significant injury and is yet to regain consciousness.”  
Jaime felt his head begin to spin  
“Tyrion fought in the battle? How was he injured? What’s to be done for him? Can I see him?”  
He heard the sound of a goblet being slammed down: clearly, he had overestimated his sister’s self-possession.  
“Oh yes, that’s right, run off to protect our dear little brother. He would have seen us all die last night! As if selling Myrcella like cattle to the Martells wasn’t enough! He wanted Joff to lead a sortie, he sent Lancel to demand it, as if I was about to send my son into that murderous imp’s hands.”  
You weren’t far from murdering your other son yourself, the thought flashed through Jaime’s mind, unbidden.  
Tywin ignored his daughter’s outburst.  
“It is highly unlikely he will survive, however, that is of no consequence. I intend to have you released from the Kingsguard, Jaime, and you will take your place as my heir”.  
His father’s complete lack of concern for Tyrion had long ago ceased to surprise Jaime, so he concentrated on the second point.  
“Father, a knight is appointed to the Kingsguard for life, you know this.”  
“And you don’t know that one of your nephew’s first actions as king was to dismiss Barristan Selmy from his post.”  
This sent Jaime reeling; he caught the smug smirk on Cersei’s face, and in that moment he wanted to strike her: Jaime revered very few people, but the man for whom he had squired as a youth was one of them. Cersei seemed to sense his desire to challenge her on this. She raised an eyebrow:  
“My son is king. He can do as he likes.”  
“Yes,” Tywin cut in coldly, “he proved himself to be of that opinion when he ordered the slaughter of Robert Baratheon’s bastards”.  
Now Jaime felt he needed some wine — how could Cersei have let this happen? What kind of monster had he sired? Had he really subjected himself to shame throughout the kingdoms only to see another Mad King ascend to the Iron Throne?  
Tywin spoke again, looking directly at Jaime:  
“I have returned to King’s Landing to find the city in an uproar, the small folk on the verge of sedition, and the Tower of the Hand used like a common brothel. I find you, having allowed yourself to be captured by a green boy, then making promises you are not in a position to keep. My patience with you both is at an end. You will do your duty to house Lannister, one way or another. This is not open to discussion”. 

Cersei stalked off down a corridor, but he managed to catch up with her and drew her into an alcove.  
“Cersei, did you know father was planning to have me expelled from the Kingsguard? You know what that would mean for us, don’t you?”  
She gazed at him coldly.  
“You’re hardly in a fit state to guard the king anyway, are you, brother?”  
He’d forgotten how she always had the power to sting him, how she knew exactly where the blow would hurt the most, but right now he didn’t care. He was close to her, touching her again for the first time in a long time, and despite the acrimonious exchange, a part of him never wanted to let her go again.  
“Robert’s dead and gone, let’s leave here together, we’re not children at father’s beck and call any longer.”  
The look she gave him was one of pure contempt.  
“I am the Queen! None of you can take that from me. I am the Queen, and I won’t leave my children: someone has to protect them.”  
“Yes, I saw how you planned to protect Tommen in the Throne Room.”  
This time her eyes blazed.  
“How novel to see you concerned for my children Jaime! And just what do you think Stannis Baratheon would have done to him? What do you think his men would have done to me? Unlike you, I haven't lost my self-respect completely.”  
Jaime took a deep breath.  
“Cersei, ever since I was captured, I have thought of nothing but returning to you, all I’ve done in all this time is try to get back to you.”  
“Well, you took too long.”  
With that, she turned and left him.


	2. Caged not Cowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, commented or left kudos!  
> In this story Sansa's a little older and a little wiser than she was at this point in cannon. I hope you enjoy my version of her and this chapter :-)

Sansa sat in front of the mirror as Shae moved around brushing and pinning her hair, the routine  
motions providing some small sense of calm and normality to both women. Without Tyrion, news had been scant. Although rumours were rife, and Shae heard a lot as she went about her duties, neither woman had any way to determine what was true and what was false.  
“They say the Hound told the King to fuck himself and fled the city,” Shae remarked.  
Sansa couldn’t help feeling relieved. Perhaps he really had been trying to help her, but the look in his eyes had reminded her too much of the bread riot, too much of how Joffrey sometimes looked at her… Shae sensed her discomfort:  
“A shame he didn't stick around, I’d have given him something to worry about.”  
Sansa smiled at the older girl, glad of her fierceness, glad that Shae could lift her spirits when she was just as worried and anxious herself. She tried to keep her voice light for her next remark but failed miserably:  
“And what of Ser Jaime’s return? Did he run my entire family through with his sword or was it only my brother and his direwolf?”  
At this, Shae placed her hands on Sansa’s shoulders and looked into her teary eyes.  
“Listen to me, no one knows how the Kingslayer escaped. People like to talk but they don't know anything. We need to wait and see. I’m sorry Sansa, I should have asked the Spider when he came yesterday.”  
Now, it was Sansa’s turn to grip Shae’s hands firmly:  
“I would not expect you to think of anything else, not when you had news of Tyrion. Shae, I meant what I said last night, we will go to visit him today. Tyrion is my friend, no one will think it strange that I should visit his bedside, and, of course, I would bring my handmaiden with me — nothing could be more proper.”  
Sansa wanted to help Shae, and she wanted to see Tyrion, too. They were the only people in King’s Landing who had treated her with kindness, and she treasured their friendship. She remembered the day in the Throne Room, when Tyrion had saved her from Joffrey and Meryn Trant,. At first, she’d been extremely wary of the little Lannister, but, soon, she had come to see his genuine concern for her. In addition to protecting her from Joffrey and replacing her spying handmaiden with Shae, he’d arranged for her to resume her disrupted education, lent her books to read, accompanied her to walks in the gardens, and generally kept her company as far as propriety allowed. He’d praised her intelligence and perceptiveness, and this had prompted her to tell him that she had perceived his relationship with her handmaiden. She had laughed at their surprised faces, taking delight in this rare opportunity to indulge in some gentle teasing.  
“Really, Lord Tyrion, you know perfectly well I spent far more of my childhood engrossed in tales of courtly love than was good for me, I am more than capable of spotting its signs.”  
Shae had looked somewhat amused by this description of their relationship and Tyrion slightly uncomfortable.  
Shae tightened her grip on Sansa’s hands but she did not acquiesce:  
“But what if we run into Joffrey h’mm?..”  
Sansa attempted to grin:  
“Well, we shall simply have to avoid any corners where he may be cowering in the absence of his mother’s skirts to hide behind.”  
Shae gave a surprised huff of laughter. Sansa knew that her words were mostly bravado: she was still Joffrey’s prisoner. In fact, the only person who had ever been able to shield her from the King to any degree was currently on his way to the Stranger if rumour was to be believed. Yet the events of the battle, what she had done in Maegor’s Holdfast, taking the role that should have been Cersei’s while the queen sniped and drank, had revealed to Sansa an inner steel she had never thought she possessed. She drew on this now as she walked toward her chamber door and opened it, looking pointedly at Shae until her handmaiden followed her.  
No one approached them as they made their way to Tyrion’s quarters. It was not a part of the Keep that Sansa was familiar with, and as they approached it she understood why. It seemed someone was at great pains to hide Tyrion from the world. Podrick was standing by the door, and he greeted them with a shake of his head to let them know Tyrion had still not regained consciousness.  
“He’s not in a good way, my lady, um… my ladies… that is lady Sansa and um… Shae.”  
Pod’s bumbling was endearingly normal: it was as if they had simply paid a call to Tyrion when the little lord was deeper in his cups than he should have been an hour after breakfast.  
“I’ve done the best I can, but I cannot leave him unattended for very long.”  
Pod was looking resolutely at his feet. Sansa wondered why he was so concerned with maintaining his post. Of course, Tyrion could succumb to his injuries, but the squire seemed warier of an external threat.  
When they entered the room, Sansa was taken aback. It was small and almost meanly furnished. Tyrion lay on a bed, his head heavily bandaged but otherwise unattended. A slight smell suggested that the dressings required changing, and, looking closer, she noticed the sheen of sweat on the small part of exposed skin, the jerky movements indicative of fever. Shae had rushed to his side, taking in his condition, then she turned, her face contorted with rage:  
“Fucking Lannisters, you see how they leave him to die? He saved the fucking city, and they leave him to fucking die?”  
Sansa rushed to her side, aware she had to calm her down: as abandoned as the place appeared, she would not be surprised if someone was listening, and Shae’s voice had reached a screaming pitch. As if confirming her worst fears, the door burst open. Sansa spun around and found herself looking straight into the eyes of Jaime Lannister. It was as if time stood still, as she was transported back to the tourney of the Hand. She’d thought him the handsomest man alive, a perfect golden knight. He certainly did not look particularly golden in that moment: his once flowing blond hair closely cropped, his face displaying lines and scars. Nevertheless, he still had a presence about him, there was still something that compelled her to keep her eyes on his. He was obviously taken aback at finding her there but quickly recovered command of himself and, after a brief greeting, turned his attention to his brother. He looked him over for a minute then strode to the door. Sansa could hear him questioning Podrick angrily and then sending him to fetch Grand Maester Pycelle. He returned to the room and bowed:  
“Lady Sansa, I’m surprised to see you here. Come to gloat at a Lannister Lion being brought so low?”  
His outspokenness was so reminiscent of his brother, about whom he was clearly worried, that Sansa felt able to excuse the slight, although it did wound her more than she would have expected. Putting on her practiced mask of courtesy she replied:  
“Ser Jaime, I had heard of your return to the capital, I am glad to see you well. As for why you find me here, Lord Tyrion is a good man, he has been very kind to me, and I consider him a friend.”  
He seemed to accept what she had said, and his expression softened.  
“In that case, I thank you for your concern. As I find you here, I must tell you that when I left your brother’s camp, both he and your mother were quite unharmed. I did not escape: your mother released me in the hope that I could be exchanged for yourself and the Lady Arya. I was escorted south by her sworn shield for this express purpose”.  
Her mind may have been in turmoil upon hearing this, but Sansa was practiced in the art of survival. “Ser Jaime, my mother, like my brother, is a traitor to the crown. I am loyal to my beloved King Joffrey, and King’s Landing is where I belong.”  
It didn’t matter that a voice within her was screaming that she should tell him to leave with her now, to put her on the back of a horse and not stop riding until they reached Winterfell. The only Lannister she trusted was Tyrion, and although he spoke warmly of his brother, Sansa knew Jaime was on far better terms with his father and sister than Tyrion was, and that alone gave her every reason to be wary of him. He seemed to smirk at her words, although the worried looked in his eyes did not disappear.  
“Well, at any rate, I have made your mother a promise which I am willing to keep. I admire her very much, Lady Sansa, she is absolutely fierce in her devotion to her children: she even defied your brother to release me.”  
Sansa didn’t know what to believe, how to feel. Did Robb not care at all what happened to her? She felt the absence of her mother like a physical ache. Fortunately, the arrival of Pycelle spared her the need to respond. Somewhat dazed, she watched as Jaime berated him for the lack of care shown to his brother. He demanded Tyrion’s wounds be immediately attended to properly, that he received regular attention, and finished by informing the maester his brother would be moved to more suitable quarters as soon as such could be procured. The old lickspittle made some feeble attempts to demure, but, clearly, Sansa hadn’t been the only one to feel Jaime Lannister’s powerful presence. As Pycelle began to tend the wounds, Jaime approached Podrick and intimated he would be back later to discuss all that had occurred during the battle. It was only when she became aware he was leaving that Sansa spoke again:  
“Ser Jaime, when you have secured new accommodations for your brother I would appreciate it if you could inform me, I would like to visit him again.”  
_Gods, how will I survive in this den of rats without Tyrion? He’s all that stood between me and Joffrey’s crossbow._  
Jaime had looked at her kindly then, and she almost felt a flush rise to her cheeks.  
“I am pleased to see my brother is not entirely friendless, Lady Sansa.”  
He made as if to touch her arm, and immediately, she flinched. No one touched her kindly these days: it was always to drag her, to hurt her, to remind her of her place. His face resumed his troubled countenance, he sketched a bow and left. 

Sansa returned to her rooms with a still seething Shae.  
“At least Ser Jaime is doing all he can to aid Tyrion’s recovery,” Sansa stated in order to soothe her.  
“And what of Ser Jaime’s offer to you? Will you leave with him if he can get you out?”  
Sansa swallowed. She couldn't afford to think about it, she couldn't let herself hope that there might be a way out. and she didn’t want to think about his words too deeply anyway.  
_She defied your brother to release me._  
Would her mother even want her if she returned without Arya, or was she alone not worth the loss of their most valuable prisoner? Shae’s voice cut through her thoughts:  
“I know you are desperate to leave this place, but you have to be careful: anything anyone does for you, they always want something in return.”  
Sansa nodded. She felt unspeakably miserable and tired: if only it really was as simple as letting Jaime Lannister carry her away.


	3. Reduction in Circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for the comments, kudos and bookmarks. 
> 
> Time to awaken the Little Lion

For how long he had been gripped by the fever dream, he could not have said. He saw the battle over and over again — the flash of wildfire, the fall of the axe; he saw the Wall, the view from the sky cell, the drop from the moon door. He thought he saw Tysha and Shae; he thought he saw Jaime and, although he had never been allowed to know anything of her appearance, he thought he saw his mother. 

When he awoke, he knew he was no longer sleeping, because his fever dreams would never have included Varys. He also knew he was awake because he felt severe pain: he was sore everywhere, particularly on the right side of his face. In panic, he realised he could not see through his right eye, but when he moved to touch it, it became clear his vision was simply obscured. The movement caught Varys’ eye and he called out:  
“Pod, fetch Ser Jaime at once, tell him his brother has woken”.   
He then poured water into a goblet and approached the bed. Tyron took it gratefully, and swallowed a deep draught.   
“What happened? Where am I?”   
Varys’ lips moved into what could be described as a smile, it did not reach his eyes.   
“Your father won a decisive victory and saved the city. He has resumed his duties as Hand. These are your new quarters. I appreciate they are something of a step down, however, I can assure you, you were originally housed somewhere far less salubrious, until your brother found you.”   
“My brother?”   
“Yes, Ser Jaime returned to King’s Landing with your father — it seems Catelyn Stark hoped that returning him would buy the freedom of her daughters.”   
Tyrion tried to digest this, but it he found it incredibly hard to focus. His father had taken the credit for his victory, then they had left him in some hole to rot. It seemed that, no matter what he did, his father was simply waiting for the moment he would die. Not that he was the only one… Tyrion turned to Varys again:  
“So, Spider, can you and your little birds tell me whether it was my sweet sister or my noble nephew who instructed Mandon More to end my life on the battlefield?”   
Varys raised his eyebrows.   
“I doubt King Joffrey has the necessary… skills and qualities to have sealed that bargain.”   
So, once again Cersei had used the weapon between her legs — at this rate, she would soon put the whores of King’s Landing out of business, he thought bitterly. Varys seemed aware of his thoughts:  
“I can understand your reaction to this news, Lord Tyrion, but, you must know, there are those of us who remember that _you_ saved this city. And things are not as bleak as they could be — you have a staunch champion in Ser Jaime. He has seen to it that you are in a much better position than you could have been. I think he has returned to the capital with a fresh view of many things, it seems he is loyal to you before almost anyone.”   
With that, the Spider scuttled off on his own mysterious pursuits. Tyrion left the bed and made his way unsteadily toward a chest, atop which sat a mirror. He pulled the bandages from his face and surveyed the damage: The wound appeared deep; it reached from his cheek bone to his jaw. He sighed: he knew it would draw the attention of anyone who looked at his face, as if he didn’t already feel enough of an abomination. 

“Admiring the badge of your bravery?”   
He had never been so delighted to hear his brother’s voice. He turned around and took in Jaime’s changed appearance:  
“And just as it looks like I could have put in a claim to be the handsome brother for once”.   
Jaime smiled and moved toward him, pulling him into a tight hug. For both of them, the embrace conveyed the relief at seeing each other alive in a way that they never would with words.   
“So, baby brother, explain to me how you managed to aggravate Mandon More to the extent he attempted to hack you face off?”   
Tyrion took a moment to consider his reply. Was it his imagination, or did Jaime seem slightly anxious?   
_It seems he is loyal to you before almost anyone._   
For now he decided to play it safe:   
“I’ve no doubt he was envious of my good looks, loving family, and popularity. It would appear I am even the favourite of Catelyn Stark, for despite saving her life, she never offered to let me go. Tell me, what did father say of your bargain? I assume you know by now only Sansa Stark remains in the capital.”   
“I discovered that the night I located the Lannister army. Lady Catelyn’s sworn shield is off looking for the younger girl.”   
“A pity, I’d like to buy him the time of the best King’s Landing whore as a thank you for my brother’s safe return.”   
At this, Jaime threw back his head and laughed.  
“Tyrion, _that_ I would pay good gold to see, for I strongly believe Brienne of Tarth would leave you with your head in your hands to play with. That is, if she did not combust at the suggestion of something so dishonourable.”   
“Brienne of Tarth? So, my brave big brother required the protection of a girl? Well, this is nothing like the fairytales of our youth.”   
The laughter fled from his brother’s face, he stared at the floor.   
“No it wasn’t, it was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and, Gods be good, like nothing I’ll ever see again.”   
Tyrion’s heart clenched. It seemed they both had a few more scars than the last time they’d met. Jaime shook his head, then faced his brother once more.   
“And it seems you’ve managed to form an alliance with the little wolf?”   
It took Tyrion a minute to realise what Jaime meant.   
“Lady Sansa, yes, saving a petrified girl from a lunatic with a crossbow and his gang of moronic brutes does tend to give her a favourable impression of one.”   
Jaime grew grim.   
“I have heard all too much of Joffrey’s actions as king. Gods, Tyrion, is he really completely mad? Why has Cersei done nothing to check him? Does she simply not care? What on earth has she been doing while I was a prisoner?”   
_Fucking our cousin._ Tyrion couldn't think of anything else to say so remained silent. Jaime seemed not to notice.   
“I confronted him, you know, told him he was a fool to have let Ser Barristan go, that I was disgusted he’d ordered the killing of the Baratheon bastards — he more of less laughed in my face.”   
Jaime’s defeated countenance spoke volumes to Tyrion. Prior to Jaime’s captivity, Joffrey would have found himself nursing a black eye for laughing at his uncle, king or not: it seemed that Jaime was not simply in a poor condition physically — he was broken in spirit, a feeling Tyrion currently knew all too well. He wished he felt stronger, more able to help. He decided to change the subject.   
“Jaime, why did you ask about Lady Sansa?”   
His brother smiled.   
“She has been to visit you several times, she seems somewhat devoted.”   
“Did she come alone?”   
“That would hardly be proper, brother. No, she was with her handmaiden. Why? Are you hoping to take a tumble with her?”   
“I have,” he admitted.   
“What!”   
Tyron was startled by the violence of Jaime’s exclamation and momentarily confused.   
“Gods no! Not Lady Sansa, her handmaiden, Shae. — she has been my mistress since I returned to Kings Landing. I placed her in Sansa’s service so she would be less conspicuous and because Sansa needed a female confidant she could trust.”   
He had been trying to avoid thinking of Shae, would she want anything to do with him now? He was no longer Hand, his power was all but gone, who knew what father would have him do now — clean the sewers of King’s Landing, probably. Jaime was looking at him with concern.   
“You need to be careful Tyrion, I think father knows you’ve been keeping a woman.”   
Tyrion felt cold dread combined with utter hopelessness. What could he do to protect her? Everything he had worked to build since he was made acting Hand had been taken from him in a moment. He felt like a sixteen-year-old boy again: berated, humiliated, and powerless. Jaime looked at him with sympathy, but Tyrion saw pity. And it was this that made him say, rapidly, before he had the chance to take the words back:   
“You know, I wasn’t the only Lannister to sustain injury in defence of the city. I seem to remember our cousin Lancel has a nasty arrow wound. I’m sure he would love a visit from you, he was with King Robert when he died, you know, I have a feeling you two could have a lot to talk about.”   
There was a silence as his brother held his gaze. Then, Jaime rose.   
“Very well, I may do just that.”   
As he made for the door Tyrion called out to him:   
“Jaime, thank you for all you have done for me these past days, I really am glad you came back.” The look his brother gave him made his heart clench once again.  
“Well, I am pleased someone is.” 

 

Some time later Pod showed another visitor in: it was Shae, and she had come alone. He felt his heart thumping: he had hoped she would come as much as he had hoped she would stay away. Now that she was here, he wished he had not removed his bandages.   
“On the bright side, no one would blame you for abandoning an ugly and scarred dwarf — I am sure most people are amazed you could stand it for so long, this clearly could be the final straw.”   
“Who said I was leaving? I am not leaving you.”   
He almost wanted to laugh.   
“Shae, I have nothing now: my position, my power — it’s all gone.”   
She came to his side, held his face in both her hands.   
“Good, then you have nothing to lose. Come away with me, we’ll go to Pentos.”   
“What will we do in Pentos?”   
“Eat, drink, fuck.”   
Gods she had never seemed more beautiful to him — or more young.   
“I can’t leave, Shae…. Doing this, being here, it’s where I belong, it’s what I’m good at.”   
He saw annoyance flash across her face, but she hid it quickly.   
“Then I’ll stay here with you.”   
“My father will see you hang, it’s better if you leave.”   
This time, she made no attempt to hide her ire:  
“Oh, he will see me hang? And I suppose your sister wants to kill me, too? So, _I_ should leave but _you_ should stay? They want to kill you as well! They don’t give a shit about you!”   
“Shae, please, listen..”   
“No!” She pointed in his face. “You are scared. You think I won’t want you now that you’re no longer Hand, you want to send me away because then you’re still in control. I am yours and you are mine, you made me say the words! Well, Tyrion Lannister, maybe you are good at this game, but I am not a piece on the board. Think about what your choice will be, but don’t wait too long, or you may find I’ve already made mine.”   
With that, she stormed out of the room, leaving him to his maudlin thoughts.


	4. The Truth Will Set You Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth will set you free...but first it will piss you off 
> 
> Thanks as always to those who have bookmarked, commented or left kudos :)

Jaime walked rapidly from his brother’s room. Something about Tyrion’s tone and the way he had held Jaime’s gaze before refusing to look at him again conveyed to Jaime that he should pay a visit to Lancel immediately. 

He knew from his father that their cousin would soon be transported back to Casterly Rock: the wound he had sustained was serious, and he needed time to convalesce. Indeed, when Jaime entered the room, it was clear that departure was imminent. Lancel was already pale, likely from blood loss, but when he saw Jaime enter the room, he seemed to have become paler still, and Jaime was reminded of the terrified look the youth had given him the night he had returned. Lancel was nervous, and Jaime greatly disliked it. 

“Cousin, I beg you, I am in no fit state to receive visitors!”   
“Oh, come now, Lancel, we’re family.” Jaime deliberately kept his voice smooth, allowing just a slight hint of menace to creep in. “I know we met briefly in Maegor’s Holdfast, but we hardly had a chance to catch up. I bring good tidings: my brother regained consciousness this morning, and he specifically told me that I should come to see you.”   
Upon hearing this, Lancel had gone from being nervous to a state of abject panic.  
“What did he tell you? It’s all lies.”   
Jaime moved so he was very close to Lancel’s face. He could almost smell fear in the youth’s sweat.   
“And what lies do you believe my brother told me?”   
Lancel crumbled completely.   
“Cersei made me do it, she forced herself on me! After King Robert died, she told me that if I didn’t keep coming when she asked, she’d make sure I hung for it. I swear, Jaime, I would never have touched her once you were back in the city.”   
Jaime’s first reaction was to contemplate breaking his cousin’s jaw. He wanted to hit him and hit him, over and over again, this pathetic, snivelling excuse for a man. This was who Cersei had taken to her bed in his absence? Jaime fought the urge to gag. He looked at Lancel and forced his features into a smile:   
“Well, I think I am finished here, cousin dearest, since there is no way for me to inflict a violent death upon you without being caught. I truly hope — for your sake — I never get the opportunity.”   
He strode out. There was no point wasting his time on Lancel: Jaime could tell a broken man when he saw one.   
_Takes one to know one._  
How could Cersei have betrayed him like this? How could the other half of his being show him such utter contempt? Jaime had to keep rigid control of himself; the bile was again rising in his throat, and his hands had balled into fists of their own accord. He had to see her now. 

She was in her apartments, attended by Joffrey. They both looked up when he entered unannounced.   
“Uncle, has your time in captivity caused you to forget the basic manners of court life?” Joffrey sneered at him.   
Gods, he was repulsive. _How can this be my firstborn son?_ But Jaime was not here for Joffrey; he swallowed an offhand reply and gave a curt nod.   
“Your grace, I beg your pardon, but I must have private counsel with your lady mother.”   
“Oh, must you? Well, as your King, _I_ shall be the one to tell _you_ what you must and must not do.” Jaime’s extremely limited patience was at an end.   
“Is that so, your Grace? Perhaps, you are unaware of what happens to kings who try to tell me what I must do?”   
Joffrey looked simultaneously enraged and terrified. His mother chose this moment to intervene:  
“Joffrey, my love, you are quite right to say your uncle has acted in an uncouth fashion. He is clearly overwrought following his long period in captivity. I think it would be best if I talked with him in private before he shames himself any further.”   
Joffrey was clearly glad to be able to escape further conversation and nodded before shooting a glare in Jaime’s direction and exiting the chamber.   
Cersei smiled sweetly at her son until he left the room, immediately turning to glare at Jaime once the door was shut.   
“How dare you threaten...”   
“I know about you and Lancel,” he snarled, aware of the tremor in his voice.   
Her lips twisted and her eyes narrowed: it was a look he had seen many times before, but never directed at him.   
“What do you know?”   
He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Cersei raised her eyebrows, seemingly amused.   
“Cat got your tongue, Jaime? Come on, I am waiting for you to tell me what you know about Lancel and me.”   
Jaime stared at her in disbelief. He was unsure what he had expected when he confronted her. Perhaps, tears, denials, pleading? Had he really been brought so low that she didn’t even think him worth fighting for?   
“Cersei, how could you do this to me?”   
Her smirk disappeared, replaced with a snarl.   
“You are such a fool! You have always been a fool! Gods, if only I had been born a man! I did not do this to you! The heavens and earth are not centred on the great Jaime Lannister. I did what I had to do to make sure that I retained power! This is a deadly game we play, and I do not intend to see my children torn to pieces.”   
He had always loved the way Cersei talked about their children: she was truly a lioness guarding her cubs; but now, thinking of what she had done, seeing the way Joffrey behaved, he felt only anger and revulsion at the words.   
“Am I to be grateful to you?”   
“This is not about you!” she shouted, then stared at him, breathing heavily. “Did you expect me to wait in a tower for you to come and rescue me? A helpless little maiden, dependent on her knight? I am the Queen and a Lannister, I am our father’s true son: not you and certainly not that little monster, who killed our mother.”   
At this allusion to Tyrion, he looked straight into her eyes. Jaime knew Cersei almost as well as he knew himself, and now, in the face of her venomous onslaught, for once, he was not blinded by desire or affection. In that moment, he realised, beyond any doubt, that it was she, not their malignant offspring, who had ordered the death of their younger brother. He looked at Cersei and was only able to shake his head and stumble away. 

He found his way to his chambers, where, without any conscious thought, he found himself repeatedly pummelling his fists into the hard stone wall. His knuckles were bleeding and raw. Brienne had fashioned a splint for his broken fingers, and the weeks between their escape and arrival to the Lannister camp had allowed them to heal. It was the realisation that he could break them again that stopped him. His head still spinning, he returned to his bedchamber and poured himself a cup of wine, downed it swiftly and began another. He laughed: a bitter, mirthless sound.   
_I’m acting exactly as Cersei would in my place. Oh, how well I understand you now, sweet sister._  
He had often thought her magnificent in her rage. Frequently, their quarrels lead to furious, passionate love making. Thinking of her now only made him feel revulsion. It was not just her betrayal of him, he reflected, with a stab of self-loathing; he would most likely have allowed her to coddle and flatter him into forgiving even that, convincing him that she had done what was necessary to survive: he was her willing fool — perhaps, he had always been. No, the truth was that Jaime knew he could not forgive her for trying to kill Tyrion. He had spent almost his entire life balancing himself between them, the two people he loved most in the world, perhaps, the only people he loved. He had never thought things between his siblings would come to a point where one tried to take the other’s life, but he knew now it was not something he could forgive. What he did not know, was what this meant for his life. Cersei had been so much for so long. As the rage and emotion began to seep out of his body, he felt he must sit before he fell. For the first time in his life, Jaime Lannister drank himself into a stupor. 

A loud banging on his door awoke him, seemingly in concert with the thumping in his head. He stumbled to the door and opened it, revealing a page holding his white cloak.   
“Ser Jaime, your father has summoned you to court this morning.”   
Jaime was in no mood or condition for the superficial spectacle of court, but he knew there was no point in arguing, and he was still too dazed to try. His mouth felt dry and sour, his body stiff, and he was aware of the dried blood coating his abused knuckles. He bathed to rid himself of the smell of stale alcohol and dressed in his still ill-fitting clothes. His armour would have hung off him so he made do with his mail vest. After all, he was only going to court — not a battlefield, he reflected with a humourless smirk. He strode towards the throne room, the page following close behind.

Jaime took a place near the front of the Throne Room. The session was just about to begin. Joffrey lounged on the Iron Throne, Cersei was sitting beside him. Jaime could not look at her for very long without feeling bile rise in his throat again. She caught his eye, then whispered in her son’s ear. Joffrey stood up and pompously began. Jaime watched him dole out honours to those who were credited with bringing about the glorious peace. He watched as his father rode through the gallery on a white horse to be publicly acknowledged as the saviour of the city and Hand of the King; Baelish was given Harrenhal for his part in brokering the Lannister-Tyrell alliance. Then, Loras Tyrell stepped forward. The young man looked graver than when Jaime had seen him last — perhaps, he had truly loved Renly Baratheon. It was hearing him mention the latter shakily that brought Jaime’s full attention to what was taking place before him. It seemed the price of Tyrell loyalty was a crown. He glanced at the Lady Margaery: there was no denying she was attractive, and she played the part of a doe-eyed girl to perfection, batting her eyelashes at Joffrey, who was practically salivating, Jaime noticed with disgust. It was not until the King made a reference to his current betrothal, and Jaime watched Cersei throw a glance to her left, that he noticed Lady Sansa was also in attendance, standing in an inconspicuous part of the gallery. He noticed the way she held herself, thinking fleetingly that she seemed the only one with any dignity in the Throne Room. He saw her face remain impassive and wondered what she thought about the performance. With growing contempt, he watched as Cersei and Joffrey acted out their grotesque tableau, and, when it was done, he was more than ready to leave; but the king’s voice stopped him.  
“And now I must turn to less happy events. It seems that for the second time in my reign, I have been cursed with a Commander of my Kingsguard who is not worthy of the role. I am even more grieved by the fact that this man is my own uncle. Ser Jaime Lannister, I command you to come before the throne.”   
He should have been shocked, but he was not. He moved forward slowly, never taking his eyes from Cersei. She gazed back, her face completely impassive. He knelt without being asked, he didn’t hear what was said, he didn’t look at the sea of faces, but he imagined them taking in his poor condition. In a perverse way, he saw the decision as justified: he was a shadow of his former self, and his cloak should have been taken when he killed the Mad King. He was certain that many of those present agreed. He could not once bring himself to look to his right. They took his cloak, and he bowed in mock courtesy. Then, he walked as far away from it all as he could.   
It was only when he walked away that the enormity of it all hit him.   
_What am I now? No Kingsguard, no Cersei… And to think I was thankful Locke had not slain me._

He was walking without seeing, fully occupied with his turbulent thoughts. For an instant, a wisp of fiery red caught his glance, then he collided with someone. His nostrils were filled with the scent of flowers and pine, his vision was obscured by a mane of red hair, and, instinctively, his hands went forward to steady the person he had collided with. She turned, and he found himself almost embracing Sansa Stark. She gasped and stepped away. For a moment, he forgot everything but her, then he became aware that his hands were resting on her shoulders when there was no need for them still to be there. He removed them and took a step backwards; only then did she speak.  
“Ser Jaime, I am sorry, you startled me.”   
“Lady Sansa, it is I who should apologise. I hope I have not caused you any injury.”  
“I can assure you I am fine. Of course, I am grieved that my beloved Joffrey has ended our betrothal.”  
“Yes, based on what my brother has told me, I am sure you are left completely heartbroken.”   
Clearly, she could not think of a suitable reply, so he pressed on, the idea coming to him instantly.   
“Lady Sansa, as you will have seen, I am no longer deemed fit for the Kingsguard, and, as you no longer have your beloved King Joffrey, I see no reason why I should not make good my vow to your mother this very night.”   
“Ser Jaime, I thank you for your concern, but there is really no need. My family are traitors, I have no wish…”   
“Gods, does everyone take me for an idiot?!”   
She looked up at him following this outburst, and he met her clear blue eyes, momentarily losing his train of thought.   
“I am offering you the chance to escape! Can you not see that?”   
At this, her eyes grew cold, and she drew herself up similarly to the day when he had questioned her sincerity regarding Tyrion.   
“Ser Jaime, I am truly sorry for what was done to you today. I know only too well how it feels to be stripped of one’s dignity before the court, but I urge you to think carefully. You say there is no reason for you to stay, and yet you claim to love your brother. Would you leave him here, surrounded by those who want him dead?”   
He must have looked surprised at this, for she went on.   
“I am not blind, I saw how vigilantly Podrick guards his door; I have seen how all he did to save the city has been completely disregarded — he needs you now more than ever.” She took a breath then said in a quieter voice, “I had two little brothers, Ser Jaime, now I have none; if I could have done anything to protect them, I would have. I bid you good day.”   
He watched her walk away like the Queen she had just been told she would never be.

Varys had informed his brother of the events at court, so Jaime did not need to explain why he had walked into his room, a bottle of wine in each hand. He sat down heavily, poured them both a glass, then stated abruptly:   
“I saw Lancel.”   
Tyrion had looked ill at ease at that, but Jaime went on.   
“Do you think Cersei sent Mandon Moore to kill you?”   
“I believe so, yes.”   
Jaime shook his head.   
“Brother, have I been a blind fool my whole life? How could I not have seen her for what she is?”   
“Jaime, you love her.”   
“No, I did, I loved her, loved the idea of her I had in my head… I cannot say if it was real — she seems a stranger to me now.”   
“Well, she is in love with power, and now she has plenty of it. She did not kill me, but she got what she wanted: I am disfigured and disgraced. Tyrion Lannister, the monstrous imp of Casterly Rock.”   
Jaime caught despair in his brother’s voice.   
“Tyrion, you were the only one who ever loved me unconditionally, I have always respected and admired that mind of yours. Please, brother, I need you to help me figure out what in the seven hells I do now.”   
Tyrion brushed a hand over his eyes then placed it on Jaime’s shoulder.   
“You are Ser Jaime Lannister, the greatest swordsman in all the Seven Kingdoms. Tomorrow, you pick up your sword and you start practicing.”   
“And who will spar with me? Who can I practice with without being further humiliated?”   
His little brother smiled.   
“I know just the man.”


	5. Roses and Thorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks to those who bookmarked, commented or left kudos : )
> 
> Let's see what Margaery makes of events in King's Landing : )

“Well, the Lannisters are certainly fortunate that they shit gold! Based on that performance Cersei and Joffrey would never make a living on the stage.”  
Olenna Tyrell seated herself on the chaise lounge and lifted a pastry from the tray in front of her. Her grandson Loras snorted and looked down.  
“Now then, Loras, don’t look petulant, you and Margaery did very well, especially you, my dear.” Margaery smiled at her grandmother.  
“The king seemed to like me well enough, did he not?”  
“Aye, he did, he has eyes so there’s no surprise there. Cersei seemed less taken with you, but again that is as we expected. No, the one I am interested in is Sansa Stark.”  
Margaery nodded. She had, of course, noticed the young girl who, until that morning, had been Joffrey’s betrothed. There was no denying she was beautiful, stunning really, even in the rather drab gown she had been wearing. Margaery had observed a tension in Sansa and an air of melancholy however there was no way of knowing whether this was caused by the events which had taken place in the throne room or the tragedy which had already beset her.  
“Well, grandmother, I am not keen to make enemies where it is not necessary. I suggest we meet with Lady Sansa on friendly terms, then we can better determine whether she plans to cut my throat in my bed or embrace me for freeing her from the king’s wicked clutches.”  
Margaery spoke lightly, but she saw her brother’s jaw tense. She knew Loras had been concerned by the reports they had received of Joffrey’s cruelty. Margaery was less troubled, she knew that things were often not as they appeared, and the stories seemed likely to have been exaggerated, of course, the Lannisters were renowned for their ruthlessness, but, surely, they would also understand the need to preserve the dignity of the crown. Olenna eyed both her grandchildren appraisingly for a moment.  
“I agree, my dear, we should certainly cultivate an acquaintance with Lady Sansa. Aside from anything else, she is Robb Stark’s heir, and now that Tywin Lannister has his son back, I don’t doubt the young wolf’s breaths are numbered, but she could be very useful to us.”  
Loras shook his head.  
“You wish to wed her to me.”  
“Well done, Loras! Such an incisive mind, you truly are your father’s son.”  
Margaery smirked at her Grandmother’s words. She loved her brother, and they were close, but she had no sympathy for him in this matter. Loras was their father’s heir, he was expected to marry, and to marry well. He had known this all his life, long before he had met Renly Baratheon. Even if he had not been attracted to men, he would not have been able to marry for love any more than she would. It was far better to accept such truths and use the advantages one had. Margaery did regret Renly’s demise and not simply for her brother’s sake. He had been pleasant enough company, and popular amongst those who followed him. Their interests had aligned on many things and she knew that he had been grateful towards her for her open tolerance of his relationship with Loras. In truth it had not concerned her in the slightest, provided Renly had succeeded in putting a babe in her belly, which she had no doubt he would have managed given more time and perhaps more Strongwine , what he did discreetly in his spare time was entirely up to him.  
Her thoughts drifted to the almost slobbering leer she had received from Joffrey earlier that day and felt the urge to shudder. She chased the thought from her mind. It was unfortunate that her latest Baratheon betrothal was less personable and indeed less attractive than his uncle but that was just the way things were. Perhaps, it was for the best that he resembled Renly so little: she would not want to confused them, she joked inwardly.

She observed that Loras still appeared morose, so she decided to change the subject.  


“The removal of Ser Jaime from his position in the Kingsgaurd was… Unexpected.”  
Now it was her grandmother’s turn to snort:  
“Tywin Lannister has been trying to strip that white cloak from his son’s shoulders from the moment it was placed there: he cannot bear the thought of the Imp succeeding him, yet he’s so loyal to his dear late wife, he would never dream of simply marrying and begetting more sons.”  
Loras spoke:  
“The Imp fought bravely in the battle. I heard from some of the city men afterwards that he roused them all with quite a speech: if it had not been for him, things would have been very different when we arrived. But there was no mention of him at court today.”  
Margaery turned to her brother:  
“Did Renly tell you much of the Lannister brothers? I know his opinions on his good sister only too well.”  
Loras smiled at that, although his eyes took on the wistful look always present when he was reminded of Renly:  
“As far as he told me, Lord Tyrion is a drunkard and a whoremonger to rival old king Robert himself.”  
“Do not be so foolish, Loras!” Olenna chided. “Tywin Lannister would hardly have left him in charge of the city for any length of time if he was nothing but a debaucher. Now, Tyrion made a clever deal with the Martells concerning princess Myrcella… And that trick with the wildfire was shrewd too… There’s more to that little fellow than meets the eye, mark my words.”  
“And what of the older brother? What did Renly have to say about him?”  
Loras looked uncomfortable.  
“Just that he was good with his sword.”  
Olenna guffawed loudly, and Loras seemed flustered by this:  
“He said Ser Jaime and the Queen were thick as thieves, almost inseparable.”  
“Well, it did not appear that was the case today,” his grandmother remarked, then got to her feet, “I must go and find out if your father has been able to find his way to his chambers without assistance. He’s such an oaf that it seems unlikely… I will see you two later.”  
She offered them a withered cheek to kiss, then left. Margaery turned to Loras:  
“The rumours about Jaime and Cersei Lannister, the proclamation Stannis sent out, you know it’s true, don’t you?”  
Loras looked at her and sighed.  
“Marge, this place is rotten to the core, we should go back to Highgarden, and we should go now.”  
Margaery could not believe what she was hearing. Abandon all their work when they were so close to making her queen?  
“None of this seemed to concern you before, brother, what’s changed?”  
“I mislike what I hear of King Joffrey: he sounds craven and cruel: I want better for my sister.”  
“And you think I will find that in Highgarden? Some grasping lord of the Reach who wants to improve his position by marrying into our family?”  
“You might fall in love… Don’t look at me like that, Marge! I miss Renly every single day, but I am still more thankful for having had him in my life than I am for anything else.”  
Margaery laid a hand on her brother’s face:  
“Loras I am sorry for what happened to Renly, I truly am; but I made up my mind to be here and do this and I intend to see it through.”  
She left him then and went to dress for dinner. She pondered their discussion and the events that took place in the throne room. She may be far from enamoured by her new betrothed but she was not looking to him for love, she was looking to him to make her Queen. At the same time Margaery was not so foolish or arrogant as to assume that she simply had to marry Joffrey to obtain and secure power. She knew she would need allies and she was also wary of anything which could discredit the King. It was of vital importance that there were no further questions as to Joffrey’s legitimacy. After weighing things carefully in her mind, she made several decisions. She would write to Sansa Stark within the next few days and invite her to tea with the ladies of Highgarden. Her second decision was not one which invited any immediate action: she resolved that, as soon as the opportunity arose, she would take steps to put significant and permanent distance between Jaime and Cersei Lannister.


	6. Spying and Plotting

Sansa, breathed in the delicate fragrance and tipped her head back slightly to better feel the warm sun on her skin. Usually, she was too anxious to enjoy spending time strolling alone in the gardens; however, as she knew that today Joffrey was hunting in the Kingswood, she was allowing herself a little relaxation. Lady Margaery had sent her a friendly note inviting her to spend the afternoon with the ladies of Highgarden, and Sansa revelled in the opportunity to make her way to them at a leisurely pace. 

Since the evening Tyrion had regained consciousness, Shae had been far from her usual vivacious self; indeed, she had seemed distant and preoccupied, often lapsing into long silences. When Sansa had asked if they should pay the little lord a call, Shae had replied sarcastically that he only needed to send for them if he wanted their company. Sansa felt sorry that the two had quarrelled and hoped Tyrion did not think that she shunned him like the rest of the court. She did not wish to force Shae to see him if she did not wish, and Sansa was wary of walking the corridors of the Red Keep alone.

Her mind turned to the walk to the harbour she had taken with Shae several days ago and the offer Lord Baelish had made to her. Shae clearly did not like or trust the man, and Sansa herself felt somewhat uneasy in his company. He talked a great deal of being her mother’s childhood friend, but then when Sansa was a child she had admired Cersei and fancied herself in love with Joffrey. That was all only several years ago but sometimes she looked back at the girl she was then and felt a completely different person. She could not remember her mother ever speaking to her of Baelish and wondered if he was perhaps exaggerating their closeness as a way of appearing trustworthy.

She was startled from her thoughts by the sound of metal clashing against metal -- a sound that always caused her to panic. Looking around, she realised that she had wandered very far from the most frequently used paths. She thought she saw someone emerging from around a corner and, almost without thinking, she descended a flight of stairs carved into a nearby rock. She was about halfway down, when she became aware that, as she continued down the steps, the noise became louder. This calmed her: it seemed unlikely that whoever was fighting all the way below posed any immediate threat to herself; she thought about heading back, but her curiosity got the better of her. She could not help crouching in a natural alcove and peering down. 

She instantly recognised Ser Jaime; the man he was fighting with she knew to be Tyrion’s sellsword companion. Sansa knew nothing of swordplay. Of course, her brothers had all been trained in the discipline from a young age, and Arya seized every chance she could get to watch them. Sansa, however, had taken little interest in this: after all, observing one’s own brothers practice various stances and swings hardly carried the same romantic appeal as a large and lavish tourney. As a consequence, she was in no position to judge the skill of either man, but she did find the duel compelling to watch, her eyes being particularly drawn to Jaime’s movements: his long legs, broad shoulders, the straightness of his back… She almost jumped when his sword fell to the ground with a clang; he turned around, and, for an instant, she was terrified that he would catch her. As quickly and quietly as she could, she ascended the stairs and hurried through the gardens until she found a bench and flung herself down, attempting to calm her racing heart.

Once she had regained her composure, Sansa quickly made her way to the place she was to meet with Lady Margaery. Near a babbling fountain, beneath a small pavilion, a number of cushioned chairs had been set out, and a group of women were seated on them, chatting. Margaery sat in the center; when she spotted Sansa making her way towards their group, she stood up and waved, smiling brightly.

“Lady Sansa, I am so pleased that you were able to join us today! Please, come and sit next to my grandmother,” she motioned to an older woman. “Grandmother, this is Lady Sansa Stark; Sansa, my grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell.” 

“I am very pleased to meet you, my lady.” 

“How kind of you to say so child. I am sure, however, you would be bored out of your mind if you had simply come to make conversation with me. These days, I find I have little to talk about aside from my various aches and pains and my continued irritation with my oaf of a son.”   
“Grandmother!”   
Margaery beamed at Sansa and rolled her eyes conspiratorially. Sansa could not help but smile back. She was poured some tea and offered a platter of cakes; to her delight, there were lemon cakes, which she had not had for quite some time. She sat back and listened to the lively chatter, not feeling she had much to contribute but enjoying being part of such a lighthearted group for a change. She felt as though she had been doused in cold water when Lady Olenna turned to her and said in a slightly quieter voice,   
“So, my dear, you do not hold any grudge against Margery for taking your betrothed from you?” “I… I…”   
Countless thoughts flashed through Sansa’s mind, but it only took a moment for her usual defensive reactions to assert themselves:   
“The king was quite right: my family are traitors, I am not worthy of him.”   
Olenna waved a dismissive hand:   
“Yes, yes, very good! Come, child, we are all women here, we know the way the world treats us! You may speak freely to Margaery and myself.”   
Sansa glanced at the other girl, who immediately gave her a warm smile. Olenna continued:   
“Now, I will admit, I have been anxious to speak to you: we have heard some disturbing reports regarding King Joffrey, so I will ask you to speak plainly: what is he like? Would you say he is a kind man?”   
Margaery patted Sansa’s hand and looked at her with a warm, sincere expression.   
“Please Sansa, I should like to know something of the man I’m going to marry.”   
Sansa looked into the deep hazel eyes and thought about how merry and exuberant Margaery had looked that afternoon; she imagined all that bright beauty being crushed by Joffrey and thought how desperately she wished someone would have been able to tell her of his true nature. She made up her mind and lowered her eyes:   
“He’s a monster.”   
Then, it all tumbled out – how he had forced her to look at her father’s head, the beatings, the public humiliations. When she finished, there was silence while both Tyrells looked at each other. Then, Olenna sighed:   
“That is unfortunate.”   
Margery rose.   
“Grandmother, please excuse us: I think Lady Sansa would appreciate a moment or two somewhere more private.”   
She took Sansa’s arm and walked her away from the group. When they had gone a little distance, she stood facing Sansa and enveloped her in an embrace  
“My poor, sweet girl, I am truly sorry that you have been through such an ordeal.”   
Sansa felt tears fall from her eyes: the older girl’s sympathy seemed like a balm she had not known she needed until now. Tyrion and Shae had done all they could to protect her and comfort her, but this was the first time she had sat down with someone and talked about everything that had happened. She had frequently worried that they both saw her as something of a burden and that she must show them she was being as strong as she could. With Margaery, a girl close to her in age and station, she felt no such constraints and was surprised by how much relief sharing her troubles had brought her.   
Margaery held her for a moment longer, then pulled away slightly so she could look her in the eye.   
“I want us to be good friends, Sansa. I know you took a risk in being so honest with me regarding the King, and I shall not forget it.”   
Sansa smiled; she hoped that she could trust Margaery – she so badly wanted to feel less isolated in this dark, dangerous place.   
Margaery continued:   
“I think I shall need all the friends I can get: the queen mother certainly dislikes me. I imagine she is not very friendly with you, either.”   
Sansa said nothing. Sometimes, she was not sure whether she was more afraid of Joffrey and his causal brutality or Cersei and her calculated viciousness. Margaery flashed her another smile.   
“You know, Sansa, in the Reach, we have a saying: ‘your mother’s daughter for your whole life; your mother’s son ’til you take a wife.’”   
She glanced sidewise with raised eyebrows, and Sansa could not help the grin that came to her face: it seemed, she had an ally in Joffrey’s new betrothed as well as a friend. 

The two walked on, further away from the ladies of the Reach. Sansa was content with this as following her tears she was unsure if she could have derived any enjoyment from being part of the high spirited group. As they approached a large field Margaery exclaimed;  
“Oh look, we have come upon the training ground! Have you met my brother Loras?”   
Sansa smiled.  
“I am not sure you could say we met: he gave me a red rose at the Tourney of the Hand when I had newly arrived in King’s Landing.”   
Looking at Loras now, she realised she barely remembered what he looked like. Her septa had told her all the young maidens were swooning over the Knight of the Flowers, so she had been overjoyed and overwhelmed when he had chosen to bestow the token of his favour on her. It seemed ridiculous to her now that she had been so suggestible back then. Margaery squeezed her arm.   
“Really? Well, in that case, I think it would be lovely for the two of you to become reacquainted. I meant what I said, Sansa: I want to repay your kindness to me. I can tell you are unhappy here, I think you would love Highgarden very much.”   
Sansa sighed:   
“They would never let me visit.”   
Margaery let out a tinkling peal of laughter.   
“Sweet girl, I did not mean you would come for a visit! No, if you wed my brother, you would be the lady of Highgarden, and it would be your home.”

_Sansa Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden. Yes, I suppose it makes sense. This way, I’ll have allies, and when I leave I will know where I am going and what my life will be like. A lady of a great keep… Ser Loras is handsome to look on, and Lady Margaery is kind. Yes, it makes sense this way._   
Sansa told herself this as she returned to her rooms. She had stayed with Margaery a little longer, but watching Loras spar with his squire had not been very absorbing, and she had made her excuses and left. When she opened the door to her room, Shae was already there, laying out her evening meal.   
“Did you have a good afternoon with the Tyrells?” her handmaiden asked.  
“You could say that. It seems that everyone I encounter is suddenly very keen to aid me in escaping King’s Landing,” Sansa joked.   
Shae frowned at her.   
“Sansa, it’s like I told you before: you have to be careful, you can’t trust anyone here. I know you think I am too suspicious, but Baelish is not a good man, so do not believe anything he says.”   
Sansa smiled at her:   
“Shae, the Tyrells are not Lord Baelish. They’re the second richest family in Westeros, and when Lady Margaery becomes queen, they will have even more power and influence than they do now. Ser Loras would be a good match, I might even be able to help my family in some way.” Sansa was not sure if she was trying to convince Shae or herself, so she changed the subject: “Have you seen Tyrion today?”   
Shae’s face darkened:   
“No, I have not, but he had a friend send me a little present.”   
“I am so sorry that things are not right between you and him, Shae, I truly hope they can be mended: he is a good man, and I do think he cares for you.”   
“Sometimes that is not enough,” Shae looked at Sansa and smiled sadly: “I know that even after all that has happened to you, you still want to find true love, Sansa, however much you may say otherwise. So, I will tell you this: it might happen that you find some man who loves you and whom you love back, but for love to survive in a place like this, it needs to be stronger than anything. And finding a love like that will cost you. Only you will know if it is worth the price.” 

Sansa pondered these words later as she lay in bed. She certainly could not envisage ever feeling so strongly about Loras Tyrell. But then, she remembered her own mother, who had originally been betrothed to Sansa’s uncle Brandon and who had been separated from her husband only one day after their wedding only to have him return with a bastard son in tow. If her mother could reconcile herself with all this, then, surely, she may find as strong a love with Loras as her parents had? That night, Sansa’s dreams had flashes of green and gold, but they did not take the form of the banner of the house Tyrell….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, commented or bookmarked the fic :-)


	7. Friendly Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to all those who have commented, bookmarked or left kudos.  
> Sansa's met Jaime, now its time for Tyrion to meet Margaery.

Tyrion turned on his side and opened his eyes. All he saw was an expanse of empty bed. Of course, it was not as if he and Shae could spend the night together regularly even before his father had returned to the capital, but now she was gone. He had been to see her several days ago, brining her golden chains and talking of setting her up with a manse in the city. She had been incandescent in her rage:  
“I knew I was your whore, Tyrion Lannister, but I will not be your damn doll as well!”  
He had pleaded with her, trying to make her see there was nothing else he could do. He also entreated her to think of Sansa, so desperate was he to make her stay. She had simply remarked that Sansa had plenty of new friends these days and Shae expected that her situation would only improve after the royal wedding. Then, she had paused and asked him to do one thing for her. He had readily agreed, eagerly assuming this was some stipulation he could fulfil to prevent her from leaving. However, she had just given him the smallest of smiles and asked him to ensure that Littlefinger did not get his grubby hands on Sansa. She had kissed him passionately and told him she was sorry she wasn’t enough, then placed the chains around her neck and left. 

He sat up in bed and ran his hands over his face. What was left for him now? At least, Shae was safe and well wherever she had gone, and he no longer needed to worry about her falling into the clutches of his father or sister. _Perhaps, it’s better this way… I am no use to any woman; love seems to be one of the many things I am ill formed for._ Yes, he would play to his strengths; drinking and knowing things. Although he had managed several substantial tavern sessions with Bronn, consideration for Jaime was significantly curbing Tyrion’s alcohol consumption. Following his expulsion from the Kingsgaurd and discovery of Cersei’s infidelity, Jaime had seemed determined to drink the capital dry, and Tyrion had been no less determined to put a stop to it. After all, his sibling lacked the years of practice he had, and there was the danger he would seriously harm himself. Therefore, when they were together, Tyrion limited himself to an amount of wine he felt was almost austere. As for his knowledge, it had been easy work after his conversation with Shae to uncover the secret betrothal between Loras and Sansa. Tyrion had not seen Sansa since Shae’s departure, but, in his mind, he wished her well. He’d come to like and respect the young woman and hoped that this marriage would give her the chance to escape the horrors and hopelessness of King’s Landing and find some measure of contentment and peace. 

He rose from the bed and began to dress in the clothes laid out by Podrick the previous night. This morning, he would begin looking through the financial ledgers of the crown. Littlefinger would be leaving the capital in a matter of weeks, so Tyrion was to assume the duties of Master of Coin. It was not a prospect he contemplated with any great enthusiasm: he knew without looking at the ledger that the crown was heavily in debt – to his father, to the Iron Bank of Braavos, and, indeed, to house Tyrell. He also knew that his new role would involve negotiating with the latter around the upcoming royal wedding. He called Pod to bring him some breakfast and resigned himself to a morning with the ledgers. 

When he could stand it no longer, Tyrion went in search of his brother. Jaime had just finished sparring with Bronn, and he was thankful his legs had been spared a long descent to the area they practiced in. Tyrion noted with satisfaction that the few weeks of training had already made a difference to his brother’s ravaged frame. There may be no real long-term point in Jaime regaining his strength and skill now that the Kingsguard was behind him, but at least it kept him healthy and filled his days with something other than a skin of wine. For most of his life, Tyrion had dreamed that Jaime would see their sister for the selfish bitch she was and turn away from her poisonous influence, but now that it had happened, seeing what the loss cost Jaime made the victory taste bitter in Tyrion’s mouth. 

They were walking through the gardens, when a voice called out to them:  
“Ser Jaime, Lord Tyrion, please come and join us.”  
He looked over and saw Margaery Tyrell seated under a small pavilion with Sansa. Although he was fully aware that Sansa was miserable in King’s Landing, Tyrion did not discount the possibility that Highgarden could simply turn out to be another golden cage. He felt this would be a good opportunity to observe how things lay between the two girls and try to ensure his friend came to no further harm. Before Jaime could refuse, Tyrion made his way to the pavilion. He bowed to both girls and kissed their hands:  
“Lady Margaery, Lady Sansa.”  
Sansa smiled at him warmly:  
“It is good to see you Lord Tyrion, I am sorry it has been so long.”  
Tyrion noticed that Sansa was wearing her hair in a style identical to Margaery Tyrell’s; there, he reflected, the similarity between the two ended. Sansa was demure in her dress, with muted jewellery and a modest disposition. He knew she spent much of her time trying to make herself invisible to those who would seek to taunt her, and, even on days like this, when she seemed happy and relaxed, this left its mark. Margaery, on the other hand, called to his mind an exotic flower or bird: her dress, her demeanour, everything about her was designed to attract attention.  
_Never forget who you are, wear it like armour._  
He certainly did not need to give this advice to Margaery Tyrell: she was entirely comfortable in her own skin. He supposed that, of the two women, Sansa was more classically beautiful, but there was something about Margaery, something that drew his eye and made it very hard for him to look away.  
He smiled at both girls.  
“Well, my ladies, have you had a pleasant day thus far?”  
Sansa smiled again:  
“Lady Margaery visited the city this morning, she has very kindly bought me a length of silk and is going to have it made into a gown for me.”  
“How generous, Lady Margaery, would this be a gown of green silk by any chance?”  
The High Garden Lady seemed aware of the challenge in his statement and eyed him levelly before responding with slightly less sweetness than her greeting had contained:  
“It will not. I chose Burgundy with a silver trim: it will suit you well, Lady Sansa, and I think you will enjoy wearing it.”  
Tyrion was pleased to note the slight flush of enjoyment on his friend’s face. He was pleasantly surprised by Lady Margery’s thoughtfulness; the dress would allow Sansa to display both Stark and Tully colours, but in a way that was too subtle for the King or Queen Regent to openly rebuke her. Margaery spoke again in the light tone she had used previously:  
“Really, I cannot believe how few gowns Lady Sansa has been furnished with, I would have thought Queen Cersei would have taken more care with her wardrobe.”  
She glanced at both men, clearly waiting to see if either would challenge this criticism of their sister. When neither did, she continued in a playful tone:  
“Just before you appeared, I was trying to persuade Sansa to thank me for my gift by playing Cyvasse with me. I understand you have given her one or two lessons, Lord Tyrion?”  
Sansa blushed at this:  
“I have told Lady Margaery she would be better off playing you herself, Lord Tyrion – I fear I do not have the mind for the game.”  
“You play Cyvasse, Lady Margaery?”  
“Yes, Lord Tyrion, my grandmother felt it was a useful game for me to learn.”  
“My father felt the same regarding his son.”  
She laughed, a sound that reminded him of small silver bells.  
“Well, if you have been taught by Tywin Lannister, I am not sure I would present you with much of a challenge, my Lord, it may be more diverting for all of us if we could arrange a game between the Old Lion and the Queen of Thorns themselves.”  
Tyrion smirked.  
“Ah, you misunderstand me, Lady Margaery. My father felt it worthwhile to teach my brother. However, Jaime found these lessons an unwelcome diversion from his martial training. Our father being the man he was this simply caused him to extend the sessions. Eventually Jaime taught me the basics and by enhancing my learning through books in our library I was able to provide him with successions of moves he could use to ensure he was not beaten too quickly or easily.”  
Sansa smiled rather sadly at this tale:  
“I wish my sister and I had managed to be so amicable regarding our differing skills and interests. I could so easily have done her practice stitches for her and saved her from a scolding from our septa… We might have been closer then.”  
Jaime, who had not uttered a word until this point, leaned forward with an earnest expression  
“Lady Sansa, I have full faith that your sister could still be alive. If she is, Brienne of Tarth will certainly find her – she will not forsake the vow she made to your mother.”  
Tyrion watched Margaery following this intently, wondering how she would react to the mention of the woman accused of killing Renly Baratheon. However, she gave no indication of being perturbed:  
“The Maid of Tarth is certainly a formidable warrior. She beat my brother in single handed combat, you know.”  
Tyrion grinned:  
“Well, my lady, we have that in common at least.”  
She held his gaze.  
“Indeed, my lord.”  
There was a pause, and Tyrion was acutely aware that he could not read her expression at all. When she turned to Sansa, he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.  
“Lady Sansa, we must go, you are due to meet with Lady Fossoway this afternoon then have tea with my cousins.”  
Sansa started but nodded at her friend and smiled her goodbyes to Jaime and Tyrion. Then, the two women were gone. 

“Well, Lady Sansa has a very busy afternoon: I would not have thought a Stark would be so in demand with the women of the Reach.”  
If Jaime sounded somewhat put out, Tyrion was too preoccupied to notice. This was likely why he responded in an offhand tone:  
“I suppose, they will want to find favour with her if she is to wed Loras Tyrell.”  
“Sansa is betrothed to Loras Tyrell! Good gods, Tyrion, why did you not tell me?!”  
Tyrion stared at his brother in bewilderment:  
“I did not think you would care.”  
“Tyrion he is… I mean to say she…”  
“Yes, yes, she lacks some of the parts he likes best! Still, I fail to see why that makes this a concern for you.”  
Jaime glared at him:  
“How am I supposed to deliver her back to her family in the North if she is shipped off to Highgarden?”  
Tyrion sighed inwardly. It never ceased to amaze him how his generally cynical brother could exhibit such naivety when it came to certain things. Tyrion knew beyond a doubt their father would never allow Jaime to take Sansa back to her family, and that he would do all in his considerable power to ensure it never happened. Jaime was now pacing, agitation plain on his face:  
“She cannot want to marry him! Not with his… Preferences.”  
“Jaime, I doubt she knows, but, even if she does, she is unlikely to care. Cersei and Joffrey have put that girl through seven hells since her father died: this is a chance for her to leave and regain some peace and dignity. She is my friend, and I am happy for her.”  
Jaime quieted at this but he still appeared dissatisfied. In fact he could not have told Tyrion exactly why he had reacted so strongly to the news of Sansa’s betrothal. He had not thought of his vow to her mother often in the past weeks. When he had, he reasoned to himself that it was better he regain his strength before attempting flight. Now he felt annoyed that bloody Loras Tyrell had taken the option from him. But more than that, he could not help but think of how admirable Sansa had appeared to him on the few occasions they had interacted, it seemed wrong somehow that she should be placed in a position where she had to accept a marriage of convenience he could not help but feel that she deserved better.  
Tyrion, knew nothing of his brother’s inner turmoil. Thinking about the conversation with Sansa and Margaery, he reflected the Tyrells seemed more likely to ensure his friend’s safety than Littlefinger.  
He would be lying if he did not admit that he was impressed by Margaery Tyrell: she was clearly not some mindless puppet of her family. He reflected with no little satisfaction that Cersei may regret the day she lost Sansa Stark as a future good daughter.


	8. A Change of Plan

Sansa turned herself from side to side in front of the mirror, running her hands down the soft silk of the gown. Margery’s dress makers had delivered it to her this morning. She was relieved to see that it did not have the plunging neckline or exposed back, which her friend favoured; however, the cut of the bodice was lower than she was used to and the way it hugged her waist and hips also set it apart from her other gowns. She wondered what Ser Loras would think of it. She had met with him on several occasions since Margaery had suggested the idea of their betrothal, and, if she were frank, she had found these meetings somewhat awkward. Their conversation had been stilted, punctuated with long periods of silence. At the end of each meeting, Loras would politely kiss her hand and take his leave. Of course, it would hardly be proper for them to fall into an embrace, but Sansa felt completely at a loss to imagine how they would ever progress to what would be expected on their wedding night when even this slight physical contact felt so forced. She blushed at the thought. Sansa had little idea of what would happen when she was married; doubtless her mother had assumed, when she sent her daughter to King’s Landing, there would be time in future to discuss this. Whom could she ask now? With a surge of regret, she thought of Shae. When the girl had come to her, tears in her eyes that she refused to let fall, and told her she was leaving, Sansa’s first reaction had been to demand how Shae could do this to her. But Sansa was not the foolish, self-centred girl she had once been, so instead she embraced her friend and wished her well. She tried to get Shae to take some of the small jewels she had in her possession, even though they were crammed with sentimental value, saying the older girl would need them more than she did. Shae had replied, not without bitterness, that Lord Tyrion had left her well provided for -- in that respect, at least. She had taken both Sansa’s hands and told her to be very careful. She also asked that Sansa not judge her too harshly for leaving. Sansa had smiled and told Shae not to worry: after all, she reflected later, how could she despise anyone for doing what she so desperately wished to do herself?

Still, with Shae gone, Sansa was lacking a confidant to advise her on her marital duties. Of course, Margaery herself gave every indication of being knowledgeable in these matters, but Sansa was embarrassed to have such a discussion when the subject was Margery’s own brother.   
_Well, it is true that Ser Loras has maidens swooning over him, perhaps he will know what to do when the time comes._  
She was unsure if this thought was comforting of not. She felt a wave of helplessness threaten to envelop her, but knew she could not allow that. Growing up, she had almost always relied on others to come to her aid, whether it was her parents settling disputes between herself and Arya, or Robb putting a stop to Theon’s snide remarks. Since the day she lost her father, she had come to realise how dangerous it was to rely on others and, although she was thankful for the few friends and allies she had, she needed first and foremost to be able to help herself. She thought again of the many practical advantages of the Tyrell match. She felt a slight pang of guilt as she thought of her family. Strictly speaking, as allies of the Lannisters, the Tyrells were Robb’s enemies and, with Margaery about to become queen, they were unlikely to change sides. Still, it was better than being wed to Joffrey, and, perhaps, when the war was over, her marriage to Loras could help to build some bridges between the North and the South. Certainly, it seemed a far more attractive prospect than jumping on a ship with the dubiousLord Baelish. She thought of Jaime Lannister, who had offered to make an escape with her the day her betrothal to Joffrey had been broken. She was glad that she had been able to dissuade him. Now that Tyrion had lost Shae, he needed to have those who cared about him by his side more than ever. However, although Sansa had meant what she had said to Jaime that day, she had also been concerned simply with getting him to abandon the idea of an immediate escape. Sansa could not imagine where he thought they would go and, she reflected, not without a trace of fondness, it seemed likely the impetuous Lannister would not be able to imagine either. It was so different from the cautious, careful way she went about her life, even before she had become a prisoner in this gilded cage: she had never been one to act on an impulse. This impulsiveness called to her mind her sister, and she wondered what Arya and Ser Jaime would make of each other if ever they met. 

There was a soft knock on her bedroom door, and Rosa slipped in. The young girl was one of several handmaidens Lady Margaery had brought from the Reach and since Shae had gone, her services had been offered to Sansa. Once again, Sansa was reminded of the advantages of her Tyrell connection, as she would have dreaded allowing one of Cersei’s minions access to her private chambers and to her person. The girl smiled and announced that Ser Jaime Lannister had come to visit her. Sansa was surprised by this and with trepidation followed Rosa into her sitting room. Jaime looked up as she entered, and Sansa’s first thought was how different he looked from the day she had set eyes on him in Tyrion’s room. His scars were healed, the slight stoop replaced by a straight, proud posture, his clothes well-fitting once more. Aside from his shortly cropped hair, he seemed almost identical to when she had first laid eyes on him all those years ago. Then, she noticed the way his eyes travelled up and down her person and was acutely aware of how much more of her flesh was on show than normal. As a way of breaking through the tension that seemed to have descended, she asked him if he would like to sit. At this, he tore his gaze from her and looked resolutely at a point somewhere over her left shoulder..   
“Lady Sansa, I have come to see you today to inform you that my father has had word of your proposed betrothal to Loras Tyrell.”   
She was going to faint, she knew she was: she had not felt this way since the day they made her watch her father lose his head. The plot had been uncovered, and Ser Jaime was here to take her to the black cells; there were probably Lannister men at arms waiting outside her door. She forced herself to look at him although he would not meet her gaze..   
“What does your lord father intend to do about it?”   
At first, she thought he had not heard her, for he made no response, then, very quickly and very quietly, he replied:  
“He would have you wed me instead.”   
A gasp escaped her lips: for a fleeting moment, she felt delight bubble up within her, then despised herself for it. Her sister had been in her thoughts so much recently and it was Arya’s face she pictured now, looking at her with scorn. _Stupid Sansa, he’s not some knight from your dreams. He’s a Lannister, they want to wed you to him so you can never be free. Stupid, stupid Sansa._   
She imagined her brothers, saying nothing but agreeing with Arya – she knew they had all thought her an empty-headed girl. Even back at Winterfell, none of them had liked or trusted Joffrey. How could she be happy about marrying a Lannister, even for an instant, when this meant she would forever be bound to the family that had killed her father? As these thoughts rushed through her head, she became aware that Jaime was still speaking. He did not make eye contact with her as he assured her he had no part in making this decision, and that, in fact, he had informed his father that he would not agree to the betrothal. Sansa felt stung: it seemed from his words that he could imagine little worse than finding himself wed to her. When he reiterated his intention to return her to her mother, she cut in harshly:  
“How exactly do you propose to do that? Forgive me, Ser Jaime, but I am not aware of a single occasion where anyone has defied your Lord father and lived to tell the tale.”   
He looked at her then, and she could not bear to see those green eyes, so she turned and said in a dull voice:   
“Thank you for informing me of our betrothal, Ser Jaime. I look forward to being a dutiful wife.”   
“Very well Lady Sansa, I bid you good day.”   
The hurt in his tone almost made her turn round, but then the reality of her situation overwhelmed her once again. To think she had been worried that her brother would be angered to hear she had wed a Tyrell! Furthermore, she knew in her heart that her anguish and self-reproach was keenest not because Jaime Lannister was a more direct enemy of her family than Loras would ever be, but because there was a small part of her that harboured tender feelings for the Lannister knight and that, more than anything, made her feel that she was betraying her own blood. _Well you prayed to the Gods for little blonde children, stupid, stupid girl!_ Then another thought came: _I have to leave, maybe it is not too late…_ She ran desperately to her window, overlooking the harbour, but Baelish’s ship was gone. Now, she had no way out and no one to turn to. She slumped down by the window and gave free reign to the tears that fell. 

 

When the door closed behind him, Jaime shut his eyes and dropped his head in frustration. Perhaps, it would have been better if someone else had informed Sansa of his father’s plans to betroth them. He shook that thought from his mind: Tywin Lannister would never have done it himself, and he would have been less likely still to pass the duty to Tyrion – the only other person Jaime could have trusted with this. No, if he had not insisted upon breaking the news himself it would likely have been Cersei or even Joff, and the prospect of what either would have said made him shudder.

He recalled his earlier conversation with his father. He had gone to Tywin’s study and found Cersei already there, wearing the smug smile he was growing to despise: it was the same look she had on her face the day he had been stripped of his white cloak. Jaime listened as Tywin coldly informed him of the Tyrell betrothal plot. Jaime was already aware of it, and, while he maintained a countenance of studied neutrality, he wondered why his father was sharing this information with him. When Tywin finished, Cersei spoke.  
“Bloody grasping Tyrells, as if putting the crown on that smirking whore’s head was not enough for them, they seek to gain the North as well. I could have told you they were not to be trusted.”  
“Their army was essential in breaking the siege on this city. Perhaps, you would have preferred to be left to the tender mercies of Stannis?”   
Cersei paled at her father’s words, but recovered herself momentarily:  
“Well, the siege is over, we have no further use for them. I presume they will be dismissed from court as soon as possible. As for Sansa Stark, well, brother, you could return her head to her traitorous family, I am sure that would be seen as fulfilling your vow.”   
Jaime felt a violent rage rise within him, as strong and all-consuming as any fever of lust she had ever invoked in him.   
“Jaime will do nothing of the kind. Explain to me, Cersei, how do you think we can continue fighting wars indefinitely? The Starks may be fools, but their house words stand. Soon, winter will be upon us, and we require the bread of the Reach to sustain the city. No, Joffrey and Maragery’s wedding will go ahead as planned. Sansa Stark is the heir to the north, and we will not lose her. She will marry your brother in a month.”  
Cersei raised an eyebrow.   
“Tyrion? Well, I don’t doubt even she would choose beheading over that.”  
“I do not think father is talking of Tyrion.”   
Jaime felt his heart pound almost painfully. Tywin gave a curt nod.  
“Jaime is my heir, now he is no longer in the Kingsguard. He will marry Sansa Stark. And after the royal wedding, you will marry Loras Tyrell.”   
Tywin’s face remained completely impassive; Cersei’s was contorted with rage.   
“You would sell me off once again and have that traitorous bitch as lady of Casterley Rock? I am the Queen!”  
“You are the Queen mother, and that does not excuse you from playing your part in securing the Lannister legacy.”   
Tywin’s voice rang with steel. Jaime could have laughed: to think that only a short time ago, the news his sister was to be sent to Highgarden as the bride of Loras Tyrell would have been akin to a call to arms for him. Now, he only felt a grim satisfaction at seeing the smug look wiped from her face. However, these thoughts were secondary to his reaction to the pronouncement regarding himself.   
“Father, I will not wed Sansa Stark: I swore a vow to her mother that I would return her…”   
He was silenced by his father’s gaze. Tywin looked at him intently, and Jaime felt the familiar sensation of his father measuring him and finding him wanting.   
“You swore a vow you were in no position to keep. You will marry Sansa Stark at the end of the month. I will ensure she is informed immediately.”   
That was when he had insisted he tell her himself: his father had graciously allowed him this one concession. As Jaime was leaving his chambers to go to her, he was accosted by Cersei. She looked wild and desperate, he felt nothing.   
“Jaime, you cannot let him send me away! You cannot let him sell me off, not again!”   
“I offered you the chance to escape father’s machinations some weeks ago, sweet sister. If you remember, you did not find the prospect appealing. In fact you made it very clear that you wanted little do with me ever again.”   
“That was different, I was not myself! How could you expect me to think rationally after having been under so much strain? You must know I still love you, Jaime – you are the other half of me.”  
Gods had she always been as transparent as this? The disgust her performance engendered in him was closely linked to a feeling of self-reproach for having loved her for so long. He looked at her with vicious contempt.   
“I do not know that you ever loved me, Cersei, not in the way love should be felt.”  
“I have told you about Lancel…”  
“This is not about Lancel! Or not just him. Gods, Cersei, for years, I turned a blind eye to the way you treated Tyrion, punishing him for our mother’s death as if a babe can be held responsible for how it comes into the world. I put up with the pair of you sniping at each other, thinking you were evenly matched. But I was wrong, was I not? Because unlike our brother, you are evil. You tried to have him killed, and that I cannot forgive or forget.”   
He felt the rage and betrayal reverberating through his whole being. Again, his anger at Cersei was connected to and exacerbated by a feeling of anger at himself. Why had he not chosen Tyrion’s side sooner? His little brother who had always made Jaime feel like the heroic champion he so desperately wanted to be. Why had he let Cersei almost destroy him before he had realised her true nature? The look she gave him now displayed a loathing as strong as the one he felt.  
“You are choosing that murderous little monster over me? I suppose that makes you feel like some sort of noble knight. You need to be very careful, brother: you will find it won’t be so easy to let go of me.”   
He took her arm and marched her to his door.   
“Go to the seventh hell, sweet sister.” 

Now he was making his way from Sansa’s chambers to the tower of the Hand. When he arrived in the hall where his family were dining, his father addressed him from the head of the table:  
“You have informed Sansa Stark of your betrothal.”  
Jaime raised an eyebrow: when he had left his father’s study it had been with the explicit declaration that in his eyes the betrothal did not stand.  
“I have just returned from visiting Lady Sansa and have informed her of my thoughts concerning the recent events.”  
His father gave no indication of having heard this. Cersei leaned forward slightly in her chair and looked at him with a disparaging smirk:  
“I have no doubt the little dove was thrilled at the prospect.”  
“Of course, she must be!” Joffrey broke in with almost manic delight. “She has been desperate to marry a Lannister ever since she first set eyes on us in that stinking northern hovel. I doubt she cares which Lannister it is. Although I’m sure she’s glad it’s Uncle Jaime and not the Imp.”  
This last sentence was definitely directed at Tyrion, and although Jaime saw his younger brother’s eyes blaze and his grip on his goblet tighten, for now, he did not rise to the bait. Jaime reflected morosely that Sansa would likely prefer Tyrion as a husband: at least, she trusted his brother and seemed at ease in his company. On the few occasions Jaime had spent time with her, he could not help but notice she seemed nervous and distracted.   
Joffrey was clearly unhappy he had not been able to provoke Tyrion. He leaned over the table so he was practically in his uncle’s face:   
“Nothing to say uncle IMP? So, you agree then? Even that empty-headed little traitor has more self-respect than to gladly marry you?”   
Jaime clenched his fists.  
“Nephew, I advise you hold your tongue.”   
However, Tyrion held up his hand indicating Jaime should stop speaking. The little Lannister then took a deep draft from the goblet he was holding and smiled briefly at Joffrey.  
“Allow me to enlighten you, Your Grace. I did not answer you because I have nothing to say that you would be able to understand, and I do not have the time to determine how to explain what I wish to say in simple enough terms. As to your Uncle Jaime and Lady Sansa, I think they make a good match.”  
Cersei let out a snigger.  
“Oh yes, the traitor’s daughter and the Kingslayer – they are perfect for each other.”  
Jaime thumped the table with his fist.  
“Will you all stop talking as if this betrothal is a fact! I have not agreed to anything.”  
“Jaime” his father’s voice was dangerously quiet, “You will marry Sansa Stark; Cersei will marry Loras Tyrell. You are Lannisters, and my children and you will do as I command..”  
Joffrey leaned towards Jaime, a sickening leer on his face:  
“You needn’t worry, uncle. If you find yourself unable to bed her, I will ensure her children have the Lannister look.”  
Joffrey’s face turned to a mask of terror as Jaime grabbed the material of his jerkin and addressed him through gritted teeth.  
“Never speak of Sansa Stark in that way in my presence again!”  
Gods, he wanted to run the little fucker through. He stood up and left, hearing his chair thump to the ground in his wake. 

It was not until he had returned to his chambers that Tyrion caught him up. His brother sat down and helped himself to some wine.   
“I am sure family gatherings like that one make you feel delighted you made such an effort to return to us.”   
“Seven Hells, Tyrion, how has it come to this point?”  
Tyrion’s face lost its sardonic expression, he paused, and when he did reply, his voice had a slight edge to it.“It has been at this point for quite some time. It’s simply that being the golden son sworn to the Kingsguard had shielded you from the worst effects.”   
Jaime knew the truth of his brother’s words, and, once again, he regretted how passive he had been in righting the wrongs Tyrion had faced from both Tywin and Cersei his whole life. Tyrion seemed to soften at his brother’s downcast expression; he placed a hand on Jaime’s shoulder and smiled:   
“At least, I can now see the advantage to being the Demon Monkey: father has long since given up trying to arrange a betrothal for me.” Tyrion paused then asked in a more tentative tone: “How did Sansa react to the news?”   
Jaime remembered the conversation, his guts twisting at the recollection of the flat tone in which Sansa had addressed him before he left.   
“She was the perfect lady.”   
Tyrion’s face displayed a sympathy:  
“Do not take it personally, brother: that icy veneer is what has kept her alive since Ned Stark lost his head.”   
Jaime looked down. It had felt personal, it had hurt.   
“Jaime, much as it pains me to say this: father is right. You will marry Sansa Stark because that is what Tywin Lannister wills. She is her brother’s heir, and he will not let her slip through his hands. If it is not you, it will be another less desirable prospect.”  
“What if that prospect was you?” Jaime said it quickly; for some reason – although in his mind it made perfect sense – his heart sank at the words. “Think of it, brother, the two of you have a friendship…Of course, there is the complication of you bedding her handmaiden, but now the girl has left for Essos that should not be insurmountable.”   
_At least you did not father her tormentor or attempt to kill her baby brother._  
“Jaime stop, please stop,” Tyrion’s face wore a pained expression. “You know perfectly well that such a union would be nothing but a tool of mockery for myself and Sansa. As for our friendship, it is one thing to let a funny little dwarf tell you jokes and read you stories, but taking one to your bed is a different matter entirely.”   
He broke off with a grimace, Jaime wanted to jump to his brother’s defence; to tell him he was worthy of love, that Sansa was not some superficial, puffed up shrew and would see him for the man he was, but Tyrion quickly continued:   
“Besides, you are now the heir to Casterly Rock. If she were to marry me, she would have no way out of King’s Landing. No, brother, we both know all too well that being my wife is no protection from the cruelty of the Lannisters.”  
Tysha, the wife Tyrion believed to have been a whore. Jaime felt the familiar pang of guilt. He could not be the cause of his brother’s misery once more.  
“Very well, baby brother, I shall give father what he wants. After all, once Sansa is my wife it will be far easier for me to return her to the North.”   
Tyrion squeezed his eyes shut.   
“Jaime…”   
But Jaime did not want to hear anything more; he poured wine into his goblet and touched it to that of his brother.   
“Come, let us toast to my betrothal to Lady Sansa Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having watched the tv show I assume you all knew it was coming; obviously Tywin would never have chosen Tyrion as Sansa's groom if his preferred son and heir had been available. 
> 
> Thanks as always to those who have left kudos, bookmarked or commented :)


	9. Co-conspirators

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to those who have commented, bookmarked of left kudos. A bit more Margaery/Tyrion in this chapter, I hope you like it : )

“It really is good of you to spend this time with me today, Lady Margaery.”   
“Sansa, there is no need for formalities, Margaery is fine. Why wouldn’t I meet with you today? We’ve planned this walk, and I’ve been looking forward to it.”  
Margaery watched as Sansa’s smile died, and she began to fidget with her sleeve.  
“I’ve not seen any of the Reach ladies since… Since last week. I know why this is, I understand that, but I’m very glad that with you, that we are still…”  
Margaery quickly placed an arm around the younger woman’s shoulder. She had soon warmed to Sansa Stark, finding her easy company. Sansa was kind and thoughtful and, despite all she had been through, still had an open heart. Margaery had come to view her with genuine affection and felt an increasing sense of protectiveness towards her.   
“Do not forget that you will be my aunt soon. Besides, I must make the most of your company while I can: I suppose you will have to prepare yourself for a slew of invitations from the ladies of the Westerlands now that you are betrothed to Ser Jaime.”  
Sansa’s fidgeting continued.  
“Ser Jaime has given me the impression that if he had his way there would have been no betrothal.”  
“And what if you had your way Sansa?”  
Sansa turned to look at Margaery, her blue eyes brimming with tears  
“Oh, Margaery! I am a silly, selfish girl! Do you know when he first told me of the betrothal, for a second, I was happy! How could I feel like that even for a second? He’s a Lannister! The same family my brother is at war with. My mother freed Jaime Lannister because she thought it would secure the return of my sister and I. Now, it will ensure I can never go home. If I was brave and strong like Arya, I would only remain long enough to kill him and escape.”  
“Oh, my sweet Sansa!” Margaery pulled her close. “You are one of the most selfless people I have ever met! And as for being silly, why should you not take some pleasure in the news? Ser Jaime is not his sister: he has never mistreated you, and Lord Tyrion speaks highly of him. And, of course. he is very handsome.”  
Margaery had used a mischievous tone for her last sentence, and she was pleased to see the blush creep across her friend’s face. Sansa turned to Margaery with a timid smile:   
“Do you truly think so?”  
“I truly do – the Lannisters are a handsome family.”  
Sansa’s face clouded again.  
“But, Margaery, what can I do? How can I look for happiness in this marriage without being a traitor to my own blood? My father thought Jaime Lannister a man without honour.”  
Margaery suspected that anyone who chose Robert Baratheon as his best friend may not be the wisest judge of character. She glanced at the other girl’s troubled countenance. It was clear that Sansa was conflicted about her betrothal. This union was certainly not a development Margaery had expected, and she still felt somewhat dismayed that her family had been outmanoeuvred by Tywin Lannister. However, she had been trying to look for a way to ensure that Jaime and Cersei did not regain the closeness that could fuel rumours regarding Joffrey’s true parentage. Perhaps, the new situation would give her a means to achieve this while also helping a girl, whom she now considered a friend.   
“I know you are strong, Sansa, and it is as well, because you will need to be. Always remember you can rely on me: our friendship is not changed by the fact you’re not marrying my brother. But keep in mind, that while what you say is true, Ser Jaime is far from the worst Lannister.”  
Sansa gave her friend a watery smile:   
“I’m sorry Margaery! I’m being incredibly selfish, when I think about your situation…” she trailed off.   
Margaery gave her a smile, although she was certain the graveness of her mood showed in her eyes.  
“I shall be Queen, and the mother of the future king. Sons learn from their mothers, and I plan to teach mine a great deal.”  
They walked on in silence. Margaery had been firm in her words to Sansa, but she was less assured than she sounded. Joffrey was certainly no Renly Baratheon, and the more time she spent with him, the more uneasy she grew. Of course, her position was far removed from Sansa’s, she had no illusions regarding the king, not to mention the backing of a powerful family with whom the Lannisters needed to maintain an alliance. Still, she wondered how much she would have to endure as the Queen of Joffrey Baratheon. She remembered with uneasiness her conversation with Joffrey regarding his uncle Renly. What would he do if he discovered that Loras was also a ‘pervert’? What if Cersei found some proof of it? She had no doubt the Queen Regent would not tamely accept the betrothal her father had arranged for her. While Loras was no less keen to escape the marriage, Margaery knew there were worse prisons than a marriage, _and that holds true even if your groom is Joffrey Baratheon._ She looked at Sansa’s haunted face: would she be able to protect her own family any better? When she had first arrived in King’s Landing, she would have confidently answered yes. This, however, was when she had simply thought the king ruthless; now she fully believed him to be mad, she was no longer quite as confident. 

Just then, the King appeared in their path. Margaery noticed immediately how Sansa shrunk into herself, as if she could become invisible if she willed it hard enough. She noticed, too, the way this only seemed to excite Joffrey’s interest in the scared girl. Margaery mused on the ridiculous spectacle that would unfold if Joffrey continued his twisted obsession with Sansa once the latter was married to the man who had sired him. While all this was going through her head, she put on a dazzling smiled, curtsied, and purred:   
“You Grace, what a delightful surprise! I have seen almost nothing of you for days! Lady Sansa, I hope you do not mind excusing me, I simply must take this chance to spend some time with my betrothed.”

Fortunately, the king did not require her presence for long. Joffrey had a fairly short attention span, and, furthermore, Cersei was quite obviously attempting to limit the time he spent with Margaery. In truth, Margery saw this as advantageous, because not only did she find his company unsettling at best, she was fully aware that a large part of her allure was being unfamiliar. _What will happen when he becomes accustomed to me?_ She pushed the thought from her mind: Margaery did not waste time lamenting her situation – she sought to make the best of it. She also sought to turn things to her advantage, and, if this also enabled her to help others she cared about, then so much the better. 

It was with this in mind that, accompanied by her handmaiden, Margaery made her way to the quarters of Tyrion Lannister. She noted with amusement that his young squire’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the site of her low fronted gown and he tripped over his feet as he went to announce her presence. Tyrion was standing to greet her as she entered. Behind him was a desk with a heavy ledger open upon it. She noticed that his hair was tousled as if he had been running his hand through it and that he was sporting the beginnings of a beard. Although he was considerably subtler than the youth who had let her in, she could tell that he had noticed her appearance and that it did not leave him indifferent.   
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Lady Margaery?”  
“I wish to talk with you regarding the betrothal of your brother and Lady Sansa.”  
Tyrion looked at her with raised eyebrows.  
“Forgive me, my lady, but why is that of such special interest to you that you would pay me a visit to discuss it?”  
“Lady Sansa is my friend; I wish to do all I can to see her happy.”  
“Is that so? Was that the primary reason you convinced her to enter into an arrangement with your brother?”  
Margaery experienced the rare sensation of not immediately knowing how to react. It was true that, as her regard for Sansa had grown, she felt somewhat ashamed of how predatorily she had behaved toward the girl when they had first met. While Sansa had clearly been desperate to escape King’s Landing, and a betrothal the heir to Highgarden was entirely befitting of her high birth, Margaery could tell that the girl hoped for love in a marriage and knew she had allowed Sansa to believe this was a possibility with Loras, when in reality it could never be. At the same time, she resented Tyrion Lannister’s judgemental tone. She knew enough about the man to be aware of his political manoeuvring, and her own actions did not seem worse by comparison. Suddenly, Margaery felt it very important to ensure he did not think of her as a heartless schemer. She gave a small smile.  
“It is true that I had hoped Sansa would marry Loras, since it would bind House Tyrell to the North and give us the chance to claim it, should some harm befall Robb Stark. However, I am sure I do not need to tell you that Sansa has been miserable here and that, while she was glad to be free of her betrothal to the King, it did leave her in a precarious position. Had she married my brother, she would have been free to depart to Highgarden and would have been treated with kindness and respect. When I seek advantage for myself and my family, I do not try to gain it by ruthlessly trampling others but rather by seeking mutually advantageous agreements. From what I have heard of you, I would say we are alike in this respect.”   
Tyrion was looking up at her with a grin playing on his lips.   
“Lady Margaery, I do not think it would be advisable for me to play Cyvasse with you after all.” Margaery felt delighted by his words and whether it was because he remembered a conversation they had had weeks ago or the pleasant sound of his voice with a teasing tone she could not have said. Her smile grew.  
“I would genuinely like to see Sansa happy with Ser Jaime, I do not believe it would be impossible. She certainly worries about betraying her family and his apparent indifference to her, but I do not think she is opposed to Jaime himself.”  
Tyrion sighed, and his hand brushed the scar on his face.   
“I am greatly concerned about my brother’s happiness, Lady Margaery, for – of all my family – he is the one dearest to me. I, too, think it is possible that this marriage could be a happy one. I can tell you that much of my brother’s hesitance comes from his concerns related to her feelings and the obligation he feels regarding his vow to her mother”  
“In that case, we must see what we can do to set them on the right path. I can think of several things which might be effective.”  
“Well, I am sure you have more expertise than I where romance is concerned, my lady.”  
“From what I have heard you are not inexperienced when it comes to women, Lord Tyrion.”   
She had said it in a humorous tone and was disconcerted when he face grew wistful.  
“Yes, women – but romance… Well I am not sure that is the same thing at all.”  
She had not meant to cause him despondency, and she found she missed the amused expression he had worn before.  
“Of course, Lord Tyrion, there is another advantageous aspect to this.”   
“Which is?”  
Margaery leaned toward him conspiratorially, finding herself inordinately pleased at the excuse to move closer.   
“I am sure your sister the Queen would take pleasure in seeing Jaime and Sansa as miserable as possible. It would be very satisfying to ensure that she does not get her way, would it not?”   
Now, Tyrion was grinning, and she could not keep the smile from her own face   
“Lady Margaery, you realise you have now completely won me over.”


	10. A Musical Interlude

“Dancing?” Jaime’s face showed a distinct lack of enthusiasm.   
“Yes, brother, you and Sansa are going practice dancing together in anticipation of your wedding.”  
The idea had come from Margaery. She had informed Tyrion that Sansa had confided much to her about the hopes and dreams she had once entertained about her wedding. Many of these could never come to be, but one thing Sansa had wished for very keenly had been a perfect first dance, with all eyes on herself and her groom.   
“Come now, Jaime, it must be years since you last took to the floor and although I have been given to understand Sansa excelled in her dancing lessons as a young girl, she, too, has had little chance to practice of late.”   
Jaime said no more, remaining reticent as they made their way to the Tyrell apartments. Tyrion wondered if his brother was slightly nervous at the prospect of seeing Sansa Stark. When the younger Lannister brother had agreed to help Lady Margaery in her campaign to improve Jaime’s relationship with his betrothed, he had done so for several reasons. On a practical level, Tyrion was in no doubt that the marriage would take place, therefore it was better for both parties if they accepted this and made the best of things. However, despite his outward cynicism, Tyrion had always believed in love. He did not think everyone found it, and he had more or less given up on the idea that he would ever be loved by anyone, but Jaime and Sansa were a very different prospect. During the early days of their friendship, when she had talked to him about her childhood, Tyrion had often been struck by just how much she reminded him of his brother. On the surface, the comparison seemed ridiculous because Sansa was a sweet, trusting girl whereas Jaime appeared to personify arrogance and cynicism. However, Tyrion knew that much of this was a persona Jaime used like an armour. What he saw in both of them was a capacity to see the best in those they cared for, to find what they felt to be loveable and place their attention on that. Although Tyrion was personally grateful for this shared trait, which had brought him Jaime’s love and Sansa’s friendship, he was also aware it had cost them both dearly when it came to overlooking serious flaws in those around them. Before Jaime had joined the Kingsguard, the young Tyrion had harboured hopes that the marriage his father would eventually make for his heir would cause a break in the ever-growing closeness between his siblings and bring him a sister who did not despise him. Now, he mused that the girl he had imagined for Jaime was very similar to Sansa Stark – kind, gentle and good in a way no Lannister he knew had ever been. 

When they reached their destination, the door was opened for them by Lady Margaery herself, who wore a dazzling smile, and Tyrion found himself rubbing his hand across his injured cheek. The scar was healing reasonably well, and he hoped that the beard he had decided to grow would further obscure it. He felt acutely aware of the new defect in his appearance whenever he was in Margery’s presence, and he mentally reprimanded himself for this.   
_As if it makes a difference to her whether Joffrey’s halfman of an uncle has a scar on his face or not!_   
They entered the room to find Sansa already there. She greeted them both with icy formality, although she did give Tyrion a genuine smile. Margaery moved to a low seat and produced a lute. She waited until Sansa and Jaime had taken up their starting pose and began to strum a familiar melody. Tyrion watched the couple dance. At first, their movements were as stiff and stilted as their greeting had been, but this did not last: barely a minute after they had started, they were dancing with fluidity, seeming to almost move as one. Tyrion reflected that Sansa had always appeared to personify grace, even when faced with a braying, hostile court. As for Jaime, he was justifiably known to be the finest swordsman in the seven kingdoms, and the dexterity and poise he had honed with that skill was in evidence now. While they danced, they seemed the embodiment of noble perfection, as if they had come from the lines of one of the ballads they had both loved as children. The way Jaime’s arm fitted around Sansa’s waist and their bodies seemed to mirror each other’s posture with ease made it appear as if they had been dancing like this for years. A gallant lord and his elegant lady – it seemed that at least one of Sansa’s dreams for her wedding day would come true. Although Sansa’s fiery red hair could not to be dismissed, Tyrion could not help but wonder as he watched if his parents had looked like this:. Golden and perfect, before he had been born and destroyed everything.

Then, Margaery Tyrell began to sing. Listening to her voice, he felt as though a warm, clear light flooded the dark place his mind had entered.

‘If you’re travelling to the North country fair  
Where the winds get heavy on the borderline  
Remember me to one who lives there  
For she once was a true love of mine’

It was a well-known song, a soldier lamenting the northern beauty he had loved and lost. No doubt, Margaery felt it would seem romantic for Sansa. Tyrion had admired Margery’s voice before, he had more than once caught himself thinking on some remark she had made and feeling he could almost hear her silvery tones. Now, he was completely mesmerised. He watched as she played and sang, her long brown hair falling in waves across her shoulders, her hazel eyes warm and dreamy. He forgot the world entirely – not just his maudlin musings, but also his brother and Sansa; indeed, everything, aside from Margaery. He could almost imagine she was singing for him.

The spell was broken by sounds of feet and voices from outside. Margaery hastily stopped playing and looked up, catching Tyrion’s eye as she did so. Tyrion wondered if his mind was still painting pictures for him, surely he could not really see a blush on cheeks of the self-possessed Tyrell?

A servant announced the arrival of the Queen Regent, and Cersei strutted in, a false smile rising to her lips as her eyes took in the scene before her. Almost immediately, Margaery stood and dipped a deep curtesy.   
“Your Grace, what an unexpected surprise. Have you come to my father’s apartments in order to spend time with your betrothed?”   
Cersei was clearly blindsided by this enquiry, and for a moment she lost her aplomb. Tyrion wanted to kiss Margaery, the woman was magnificent. He could almost have imagined pledging a lifetime of devotion to her, if it had not been so obvious that she needed no such protector, sharp and sparkling as she was; in that moment, he felt he had never admired anyone more.  
“I have been looking for Lady Sansa, I was told I would find her here. Come, Little Dove, I need to educate you in regards to your duties as a lady of House Lannister.”   
Sansa and Jaime had moved away from each other almost as soon as the door had opened, and although the dance had not been strenuous, both were breathing hard. Sansa looked pale as she went to the Queen’s side, Jaime’s eyes were locked on her, and Tyrion could not remember having ever seen the expression his brother’s face now wore. Cersei flashed her a smile which was over before it began, then turned to Margaery once more.   
“Lady Margaery, I find it strange that you should suggest I was here to spend time with my betrothed when you seem so rarely to be with yours.”   
The girlish simper Margaery displayed was as genuine as Cersei’s smile:   
“The King has so many important duties to attend to. He has responsibility for the whole realm and its people. I know he is diligent, and that he takes this role seriously. I am happy to content myself with the little time he has left over.”   
The words fell as heavily as lead on Tyrion, bringing him down to earth, back to a reality where Margaery Tyrell was betrothed to his hateful nephew; where she would be Joffrey’s bride and queen. Where she and Tyrion were simply allies, and even that arrangement extended no further than reconciling Sansa and Jaime to their own wedding (from the way the two of them were behaving, Tyrion felt that job was nearly done). She would have no reason to spend time with him after the wedding took place, and perhaps this was for the best. Clearly, he was unable to keep his wits about him in her presence, and if he did not have his wits, then what did he have?   
Cersei eyed the girl with undisguised distaste:   
“Well, I’m sure you will be delighted to hear that he is now free and asking for you. He wants to show you his new crossbow.”  
“How thrilling,” Margery's bright smile seemed to him slightly false.   
Not that this mattered, he knew she was far too clever to have failed to size up Joffrey for exactly what he was.   
_She’ll see you for exactly what you are, too – a drunken lustful little beast._   
He was angry at himself, angry he’d allowed even the vague daydreams he’d entertained to occupy his mind. _If even Shae would not stay with you how can you even dream of having a woman like that? A woman with no need of gold._   
Margaery walked towards Sansa and Cersei. Tyrion felt she was trying to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her.   
The three women departed, and he turned to his brother:   
“I must take my leave of you, I have urgent Master of Coin business to attend to.”   
_After all, we must ensure the royal wedding is as spectacular as it possibly can be._   
He walked out as quickly as he could; he needed to put distance between himself and that room, the room where he had briefly allowed himself to forget the reality of who and what he was. Jaime followed him without a word, and as they moved through the corridors of the keep, his brother’s silence continued. This suited Tyrion, who had no intention of vocalising any of what occupied his mind. Eventually, it was Jaime who broke the silence:  
“Tyrion, do you happen to know where I might find Bronn? I wish to spar with him.”  
“No, sorry, out of the question. I require Bronn’s aid with my urgent Master of Coin business.”  
“Is that so, brother?”  
“Yes, it is. I am afraid you will have to find someone else to play sword fighting with.”  
Jaime smiled crookedly at him, shaking his head slightly, but did not say anything. When they reached the courtyard, he smiled again:   
“I must thank you and Lady Margaery for arranging this morning, brother. It seems I have benefitted greatly from practicing my dancing.”  
“Happy to help, Jaime. I think Lady Sansa also found the exercise an enjoyable one.”  
It was a testament to the love Tyrion bore his brother that he did not feel any resentment toward Jaime when he observed the dreamy look that came over his face. If he was as long of leg and broad of shoulder, no doubt he could safely harbour similar dreams. But he was not and never would be. This did not change the fact that the one constant force of good in his life had been his older brother, so if Jaime could now find happiness and Tyrion could aid that in any small way, then he would be content. He spoke once more.  
“I shall see you this evening, then.”  
“Ah yes, your urgent Master of Coin business – make sure you don’t work too hard, Tyrion.”  
Of course, his brother’s scepticism was not misplaced. Tyrion had come to the conclusion that the best course of action for him was to find Bronn and have the man accompany him to a brothel. Surely, he reasoned, it was simply missing Shae and a lack of physical intimacy since her departure that was leading him to be so susceptible to the charms of Lady Margaery Tyrell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Margaery is singing is 'Girl from the North Country' by Bob Dylan (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJCmgKRszYM) I'm not sure how it would actually be to dance to but I love the lyrics. 
> 
> Thanks as always to those who have commented, bookmarked or left kudos : )


	11. Four Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Britain there is a tradition that brides should be given 'something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue' Sansa doesn't live in Britain so she won't be getting those four things but she is about to receive some presents for her wedding day!
> 
> Please note: I've aged Sansa up to 16 here so when Tyrion tells her he was married at her age, he means he was 16 as he was in the show not 13 as he was in the books.

Sansa pulled on the gown then turned so that her handmaiden could lace it at the back.  
“Thank you, Rosa”  
“How shall I dress your hair, m’lady?”  
“Pull it to the top of my head, with a braid round it. If I am to host the Queen Regent, I should style myself appropriately.”  
Cersei was paying her a visit this morning. Sansa had endured several of these private audiences since the day she and Jaime had practiced their wedding dance. Each had been thoroughly excruciating, and she wondered yet again why she had ever admired this woman. To think that when she had first come to court, she had been thrilled to emulate Cersei’s hair and dreamed of draping herself in crimson silks as the Queen did. She smirked wryly as she now acknowledged that however ambivalent she had felt about Loras as a potential husband, she would still infinitely prefer Margaery as a good sister. 

There was a knock at the door and Cersei entered. As always, there was a sickly sweet smile on her lips as she eyed Sansa, unable to prevent the smile from dropping for an instant.   
“My dear, you look simply charming in that gown: this shade of red suits you.”  
Sansa had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep the triumphant grin from her face. Cersei had provided her with several gowns of red and gold and had clearly hoped they would clash horribly with her red hair. However, the particular shade of red of the Lannister banner was in fact complimentary. _Almost as if it was meant to be…_ She chased the thought from her mind.   
“May I offer you some tea your grace?” she inquired.  
“How sweet of you. I will have a glass of Dornish red.”  
Despite the early hour, Sansa had expected this and signalled to Rosa to provide a jug and a goblet. She seated herself opposite of Cersei and mentally prepared for the torment of Cersei’s honeyed barbs. The meeting took on a pattern familiar to the others she had been subjected to. Cersei started with false concern: of course, she understood how hard this situation must be for Sansa; notwithstanding, Sansa must keep in mind that Cersei’s brother was a proud man, and this marriage was difficult for him as well. He had been a member of the Kingsgaurd, and now he was expected to wed a traitor’s daughter. Sansa knew what was expected of her:   
“Ser Jaime is very gracious, I will do all I can to be a dutiful wife to him.”   
Cersei tilted her head and half-closed her eyes, the perfect picture of condescension:   
“To do that, you must be meek, little dove, meek and patient, ensure you do nothing to anger my brother. I know that you may have seen him smiling and japing around the court: this is very much for appearances. Jaime has a violent temper, and you should do all you can to avoid angering him: if he is provoked, he can lose all control, and I can assure you the results would not be pleasant. I am not telling you this to scare you little dove, I simply wish to see that you do not suffer more than can be helped.”   
Sansa could not marry this description of Ser Jaime with her own experience of the man. Certainly, he displayed an air of arrogance as all Lannisters did: even Tyrion seemed not so much to walk as to strut around the Red Keep; but she also saw Jaime as generally of an even temper and even sensed a gentleness in him. She mentally reprimanded herself for harbouring such thoughts about the Kingslayer. Cersei reached over to her and touched her cheek. Sansa had to summon all her willpower not to shudder.   
“Sansa, tomorrow you will wed my brother, from that day forward you will be a Lannister and the Lannisters will be the only family you can know.”   
Sansa was determined not to let Cersei see how accurately the dart had hit its mark.   
“I am honoured to be marrying Ser Jaime; I will do my duty to him and to house Lannister.”   
“Of course, you will, little dove. I know that, at times, the past few years have been hard on you. I only hope that what you have been through has allowed you to learn to make yourself numb. That will be a great asset to you when you are bedded on your wedding night.”   
Cersei stood to leave, ensuring she had emptied her goblet first.  
“Your handmaiden has your gown for tomorrow. It’s gold. I know silver or grey would be traditional, but you were always so keen to rid yourself of those Stark colours in any case.”   
She swept out, leaving Sansa to breathe deeply and compose herself. She would not let Cersei drive her to tears again.   
The days when Sansa was in Cersei’s thrall were long past. She was fully aware that the woman’s main objective in meeting with her was to remind her of her place and to taunt her about her situation. However, she did wonder if Cersei’s advice regarding her wedding night had a degree of genuineness in it, given how little love had been lost between the Queen Regent and Robert Baratheon. Sansa recalled Cersei telling her how Robert had hunted in the Kingswood while she birthed their children, but that Jaime had stayed by her side, and she wondered if Jaime would be present if she bore him a child. The thought was strange to her: she had hazy recollections of Bran’s birth and a clearer memory of the day Rickon had arrived. Both times her father had spent the day with his children, and there was no reason for her to think he had not done the same each time her mother laboured, particularly as she knew he had been absent for Robb’s birth.

_My mother should be here._

The thought had been coming to her repeatedly over the past few days. Sansa had never imagined that her wedding would take place in Winterfell. She had been a proud and vain little girl, and she was deeply aware of her mother’s Tully heritage. Long before the royal family had come North, bringing her dreams of a crown, she had recoiled in horror at the idea of being married into a Northern house. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and kneeling before the children of her brother as a dutiful wife to one of the houses who knelt before hers seemed a great humiliation at the time. No, it was not that her wedding would take place in the south that caused her a feeling of wrongness. Nor, she reflected sorrowfully was it the absence of her siblings. She had always assumed Robb would marry first and would have to remain at Winterfell with a wife of his own, and any thought of Arya attending her nuptials had been related to the little beast ruining her wedding. However, even after she had come to King’s Landing, Sansa had dreamed that Lady Catelyn would help her to dress on the morning of the wedding, sharing confidences with her regarding the life of a young wife and preparing her for the ceremony. Sansa’s favourite part of her day as a child had been when her mother came into her chamber and, banishing the handmaiden, brushed Sansa’s hair herself. Sansa wondered if her mother would hear of this marriage, and how she would react. Perhaps, she was mistaken, or deceiving herself, but Sansa felt certain that her mother would not be angered by her daughter’s marriage to Jaime. Catelyn Stark had spent many hours trying to instil a sense of duty into her romantic elder daughter, and she had impressed upon her that the man she married would not be of Sansa’s choosing and that this was something to be accepted. Sansa had no doubt that her mother would reserve all her bitter feeling for Jaime himself, and she could imagine her face wearing an expression she had almost exclusively reserved for Jon Snow and Theon Greyjoy. However, knowing her mother would not judge her for entering into this marriage did not assuage the guilt Sansa felt. For she felt equally certain that her mother would never forgive the feeling of delight, which had arisen in her upon first hearing of her betrothal and which resurfaced now and again when she was in Jaime Lannister’s presence. 

As if to further hammer home the guilt she felt, Jaime arrived at her chambers that very moment. As Sansa rose to greet him, she noticed the slight frown on his face as he took in her appearance. Taking this as another indication of his distaste at the prospect of herself as a bride, she imbued her words with an additional layer of frost.   
“Good day, Ser Jaime, I trust you are well. I am delighted to see you.”  
“Yes, I can tell that by the sound of your voice.”  
“I am sorry if I have displeased you.”  
As she spoke, she looked up at him defiantly, and was thrown to see a soft, almost tender look in his eyes.   
“Sansa, I am afraid it is I who should be sorry: I can see that my hesitance concerning our betrothal has caused you pain and that is something I would never wish for.”  
She knew she should keep to the familiar ground, reply with some cold formality, but staring into those wonderful green eyes she could not bring herself to. Jaime sighed and spoke again.  
“I can assure you that my behaviour was in no way a reflection of my…esteem for you, in truth I find you… admirable -- both in your character and your… person.”   
Sansa could not help but smile: she never imagined he could be so unsure of himself or that seeing him in such a state would be so appealing. He ran a hand through his hair and began to reach into his surcoat.  
“I came to visit you to ensure you were aware of that as well as to give you this for the wedding.”  
He handed her a small parcel.  
“You did not need to give me a present Ser Jaime.”  
“Who said it was a present? You should not be so presumptuous, my lady, in fact it is for you to give to me.”   
Some of his teasing tone had returned, although his expression remained pensive while she unwrapped the paper. She gasped. Inside the packet was a heavy silver ring displaying the head of a direwolf. Jaime grasped her free hand and looked at her so intently, she marvelled she was able to breathe at all.   
“I know my family have impressed upon you that this marriage is about binding you to the Lannisters. But when we are in that sept tomorrow, we will both make our vows to each other. I will be yours as much as you are mine: be assured that I will do all I can for you, my lady, and although I see I could have no better woman for a wife, I will ensure you are returned to your family if you so wish it.”  
Sansa gazed at him, unable to formulate anything approaching a reply. All her possessions bearing her house sigil had been destroyed long ago, and she knew that Joffrey would never let her display them. She could not believe that the man, of whose supreme indifference to her she had convinced herself, was standing before her with a pledge of loyalty and devotion which surpassed any romantic tale she could think of. More than that, he was promising to uphold his vow and let her go if she wished it; for the first time, she truly believed that he would do so if she asked. Sansa had not truly felt she had a choice in anything since she had come to the capital, but here was the man who was to be her lord husband allowing her to decide if she stayed with him or not. She badly wanted to express to him how much this meant to her, but any reply that came to her mind sounded painfully inadequate, so she raised her head, clasped his shoulder and placed a chaste kiss upon his lips.   
The contact was brief but sufficient for her to feel the same giddy jolt she had experienced when they had danced together in Margery’s apartments. When she looked up at Jaime, he appeared rather surprised but not displeased. He smiled at her warmly.   
“Thank you, Ser Jaime.”  
“You are welcome, Lady Sansa. Now I must take my leave of you, I will see you on the morrow.”

He left; she paced rapidly towards her bedroom, her breath coming out in shaky giggles. As the initial euphoria subsided, she felt her confusion return manifold. Truly, what did she want? She had been so unhappy in King’s Landing for so long, she had longed to return home. But what did that even mean? Winterfell had been destroyed, her father and her younger brothers were gone. Robb did not seem to be eager to get her back – he had done nothing to secure her release. As for Arya, the last time she had seen her sister, Sansa had been begging her father to allow her betrothal to Joffrey to stand. Sansa thought of that day, and how her father had offered to find her a better match when the time was right. She knew without doubt that Ned Stark would never have described Jaime Lannister as brave, gentle, and strong, but Sansa was more and more convinced that these words summed him up perfectly. 

When Rosa announced that Lady Margaery had arrived for lunch, Sansa felt relief flood through her. She valued the older girl’s counsel immensely. _If only it were she who was to be my good sister._ While the two ate a light meal of fruit and cheese, Sansa relayed the events of her morning, making no effort to keep the smile from her face as she showed Margaery the direwolf ring. Margaery beamed at her:   
“Well, it seems that you are fortunate: the man you are to wed genuinely cares for you and is willing to see to your happiness. So, sweet girl, what is your choice to be? Will you have him find a way to take you north to your family? Or will you stay in the South and resign yourself to a life as the wife of Jaime Lannister, heir to the richest family in the Seven Kingdoms, gallant knight and handsome charmer?”   
Sansa could not help but flush with delight at this description of the man she was to marry.   
“In truth, I do not know. I was so sure for so long that all I wanted was to go home, but now I feel that a part of me wants to stay… I cannot help feeling it’s wrong, when I think of all my family have suffered. If you were me, what would you do?”   
Margaery’s warm smile remained, but her eyes grew grave:   
“Sansa, I cannot answer that for you. Whatever choice you make, there will be consequences, and some of them will not be things you would wish for. It may well be that there are those who would not welcome a Lannister bride back to the North, for all you had little choice in the matter.”  
Sansa sighed: she knew her friend was right, and that was partly why she had viewed this match negatively to begin with. However, the more she saw of Jaime, the less this bothered her. She felt the familiar pull of guilt. Margaery must have seen the tension on her face, because she continued in a kind tone:  
“Sansa, none of this was your doing, you have been put in an awful position since your father died.  
I think you deserve some happiness at last.”   
Sansa looked at Margaery, touched by her friend’s genuine words. She continued in a timid tone.  
“Margaery, I hope you do not find me presumptuous. I know that you are far more suited to the role of Queen than I ever was, but do you truly think that it will make you happy? I believe Cersei thought so once, but now she has only bitterness.”  
Margaery remained quiet, and Sansa wondered if she had gone too far, but then the older girl enveloped her in a hug. She pulled back slightly and looked at Sansa with warm eyes.  
“And how could I ever become so bitter with a friend like you, sweet girl? Now, I cannot stay long, there’s a rather important event tomorrow I need to prepare for. But I have brought you this. I hope it’s fairly accurate: examples of your sigil are hard to come by.”   
Margaery reached down to a parcel beside her chair and opened it with a flourish. It was a Stark maiden cloak. Tears came to Sansa’s eyes. Margaery appeared uncharacteristically hesitant.   
“I thought of it when you were betrothed to Loras, but now I really want you to have it. If we cannot be sisters, I am content that we are true friends.”  
Sansa pulled her into a hug.   
“Think on my words, Margaery.”  
“You think on mine.”   
Margaery released herself from Sansa’s embrace and, giving a nod and another dazzling smile took her leave.

In the evening, Sansa received a final visitor. Tyrion entered. As the others, he was bearing a gift.  
“I am fully aware my brother could have brought these when he came earlier, but perhaps he wanted his gesture to achieve its full impact: Jaime has always had a flair for the dramatic.”   
Sansa opened the present from her groom. It was a pair of beautiful, ornate hair clasps. They were gold, but the embellishments were pearl: they matched the jewellery she had from home, and she was also aware that, to wear them, her hair would have to be styled in a Northern fashion. Once again that day, she was unable to keep the smile from her face.   
“So, you know what Jaime brought to me this morning.”  
“Indeed, I do, although I would love to know what it was you did to him: he was barely able to articulate a word when he returned from seeing you.”  
She blushed and looked down, grateful when Tyrion did not press her further.  
“Sansa, despite copious rumours to the contrary, my brother is a good man, and although many see him as devoid of honour, I have no doubt that once he pledges himself to you, he will take that vow seriously.”   
Tyrion looked into the distance and swallowed.  
“I was married once myself, you know.”  
Sansa looked at him in surprise.  
“Yes, when I was your age, in actual fact. It ended after two weeks. I’m sorry – a rather inappropriate story, I have no doubt you will be altogether more successful in the endeavour.”  
She did not know what to say, something in his face told her not to ask any questions.   
“I am sorry for whatever happened.”  
“There’s no need for that. I was a stupid boy who forgot what he was.”  
Sansa leaned towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder.   
“Tyrion, you are the very best friend I have ever had. I will never forget all you have done for me, all you continue to do for me. When you talk of what you are, to me, you are a kind and honourable man, and I will be proud to call you brother.”   
Tyrion looked at her, blinking tears from his eyes.   
“It seems you have me at a loss for words, I am sure that feat alone will endear you immeasurably to my lord father.”   
This allowed them both to laugh, relieving the intensity of the moment. He gave her a warm smile. “Sansa Stark, even after all that has happened, you still have a tender heart. In that, as in many things, I see you and Jaime as very well matched. See you do not lose that heart – it is more precious than all the gold in Casterley Rock.”   
With that he left her.

Sansa retired to her chamber, the words she had heard and spoken that day running through her mind. After tomorrow, there would be no going back. She took the direwolf ring from the bedside table where she had placed it. She held it up to the candlelight, watching its small diamond eyes glitter in the light. Then she clasped it tightly in her hand as she feel asleep, a small smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to those who have commented, bookmarked or left kudos : )


	12. Thoughts of a Groom

Jaime stood in the Great Sept of Baelor, his eyes on the assembled congregation, his mind somewhere else entirely. He still could not quite believe that this day had come. He had joined the Kingsguard when not much more than a boy, and even before he had taken the white he had seen himself as pledged to Cersei, never imagining he would wed anyone. Yet here he was, about to pledge himself to Sansa Stark. _When word of this reaches Lady Catelyn, I have no doubt she will curse herself for not breaking my skull with that rock._

Tyrion, who was at his side, tugged his arm gently, “Brother I believe she is here,” then walked to join their father and sister. Jaime avoided looking at Cersei, but he gave Tommen a brief smile and a nod, then noticed that Joffrey was not with his family. He felt rage rise within him as he realised what this meant, and, sure enough, at that moment, his bride came into view, escorted by a king practically beside himself with malevolent glee. Jaime clenched his jaw, but then his gaze moved to Sansa, and he felt his anger float away. He knew the woman he was to marry was beautiful, and he had often found himself admiring her, but today, as he watched her walk toward him, it was as if she had cast a spell. He coppery mane hung round her shoulders secured by the clasps he had sent as gift. With the sunlight falling into the sept, she looked almost as if she was illuminated from within, and she carried herself with the proud grace he realised he had admired in her since he had returned to King’s Landing. 

She came to stand beside him and bestowed him with one of her rare smiles. For an instant, he wondered why on earth he had told her he would help return to the North. Then, his good sense returned. She did not want to be bound to him and his family for the rest of her days. The ceremony began. As her Stark Maidencloak was removed he could not help but notice the beautiful, perfect skin of her neck and shoulders. He secured the red and gold cloak around her and, as he proclaimed her under his protection, he looked toward his family. I will see to it you never hurt her again. As they exchanged their vows, a feeling of discontent began to creep over him. He had taken vows as Kingsguard, and these were now made a mockery as he took a wife in addition to having killed a king. He was vowing himself to Sansa only to break these vows as soon as the opportunity presented itself. _Unless she decides to stay._ It should have been a bitter joke, but as their hands were tied, and he looked into her sparkling deep blue eyes he hoped that his bride may do just that. 

Their sealing kiss was as chaste as the one she had placed upon his lips the night before. He could not help but wonder what it would feel like to have those soft full lips against his for longer. Once they had exited the sept and were in their palanquin, she turned to him with a smile. “Ser Jaime, I would like to return this to you now we are alone. Truly the words you spoke to me when you gave it to me meant more than anything anyone has said to me before.”   
She then placed the Direwolf ring on his finger. He looked down at her elegant hands, she truly was perfect. He looked into her eyes and smiled.   
“Be assured that I meant them my lady.”   
They did not speak further, but the silence between them was companionable. Jaime was glad to be away from the scrutiny of the court and enjoyed the small respite available to them. Soon, they would arrive at the keep for the presentation of the wedding gifts, and the feast. Although he looked forward to neither, he felt dread rise within him at the thought of anything beyond that. _Of course, she will ask me to take her back to her family. I only agreed to marry her to do just that._

They took their seats and the procession of gift giving began. Joffrey’s gift came first, presented jointly from himself and Margaery, Jaime watched as two grey horses were processed through the hall. He noticed Sansa’s face light up.  
“Are you fond of horse riding my Lady?”  
“I have not ridden since I came south, but when I was a child at Winterfell I would often ride through the Wolfswood with Arya and my brothers. We used to take our direwolves with us.”   
Her smile faded and she looked down; Jaime gripped her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He was gratified and proud when she looked up and gave him a brief smile in return. Cersei’s gift was presented next, and Jaime saw Sansa’s eyes glaze slightly at the elaborate banner displaying the words and sigil of House Lannister. He looked to where Cersei sat with her habitual smug smile; she raised a glass almost mockingly, but Sansa’s simply bowed her head and thanked the Queen Regent courteously. Jaime found himself feeling proud of her grace and dignity, before he reminded himself that she was not truly his to feel pride for. Tyrion and Tommen gifts came next and he noted Sansa’s particular pleasure at his brother’s gift of a harp; he had not even known Sansa could play. He wondered why his father had elected to present last: there could be no doubt that this was Tywin’s choice. He was further surprised that the man himself strode towards them, surely what he bestowed was indeed precious. Then Jaime saw what Tywin carried and his blood turned cold. 

His father’s eyes had a softer look than usually, which called to Jaime’s mind his return from captivity. He felt Sansa’s hand tense in his, but he was unsure if this was simply because of nervousness or because she, too, was aware what they were to be gifted with. Tywin spoke:  
“On the wedding of my son and heir, I present him with this newly forged blade of Valyrian steel. May he and his wife go forward and be blessed with a new generation of Lannisters forged with Stark steel.”   
He handed the golden, ruby studded pommel to Jaime, who took it and bowed. This time, Sansa was beyond a polite reply, and he could tell she was shaking. How could his father have chosen this moment to give him a blade forged from Ned Stark’s sword? _He gave me Ned Stark’s daughter, too._ As when the betrothal had first been made, Jaime was forcibly reminded of how much he was directly affected by his father’s machinations for the legacy of house Lannister. He looked at Sansa’s tense face and was reminded again of why this marriage was doomed to failure. 

She barely exchanged a word with him during the feast and hardly touched the food on her plate. The meal felt excruciating, and, when the time came to dance, it was little better. As Jaime moved around the floor with his bride, he was acutely aware that the experience was completely devoid of the intensity he had felt when he had twirled Sansa round the Tyrells’ solar. There were too many people watching, who wished them ill, and she remained downcast and withdrawn. He searched for some way to reach her in her aloof torment, but he was wary of making the situation worse. 

All to soon, Cersei had claimed a dance with him, and her sharp eyes had noticed the direwolf ring at once.   
“My, what a pretty little bauble! I’m sure she regrets she was so keen to part from the actual beast.”  
Jaime clenched his teeth, remembering the incident on the King’s Road all those years ago, looking at it with fresh eyes now it related not to a child he had no interest in but to his wife.   
Cersei was surveying him with malicious amusement.  
“Come now, Jaime, I do not remember you lamenting the creature’s death at the time – surely you aren’t developing feelings for your little bride?”  
“My only interest in Lady Sansa is the vow I swore to her mother”   
It sounded hollow even to his own ears, Cersei was now looking at him not with amusement but with rage.   
“I see you are, how sweet. Never for one second forget that I have only to tell her a few truths to destroy anything there could ever be between you. Although I am sure that will not be necessary – you are more than capable of destroying it on your own.”   
Her words stung him as well as imparting to him a fleeting feeling of fear. Unconsciously seeking a balm for this wound, he searched the room for his bride. As soon as he had located her, he could tell something had happened to upset her further. He left his sister abruptly and went to her. 

“Sansa, what has happened?”  
“Please do not concern yourself, Ser Jaime, the King was less than courteous to me when we were dancing.”  
Jaime could imagine exactly what this meant. Without thinking he placed an arm around her waist protectively.   
“Shall I go and remind him of his manners?”  
“There will be no need for that. Tyrion is discussing the matter with your lord father.”  
For the first time in his life, Jaime felt jealously of his brother rise within him. Tyrion, who had known of the perfect, thoughtful gift for Sansa; Tyrion, who always seemed to be able to make her smile. Jaime felt very keenly that he wished to be the one to do these things for Sansa. 

His brother approached them then, and it was not just anger at Joffrey, which coloured Jaime’s look and tone when he spoke with Tyrion:  
“Am I to stand here and do nothing while my wife is abused by _him?_ ”  
“Yes, Ser Jaime, that is exactly what you will do, for I have no wish to be a widow on my wedding night.”   
Sansa’s outburst startled both men. Tyrion recovered first:  
“Jaime, what Sansa says makes sense: you would not survive laying hands on the king, not with his guards about him here in the Keep. At best, you would be in a black cell, and I doubt even father could get you out of it. Now, I have spoken to our sire, and he has deemed that you should both stay here for one more dance, and then you can quietly retire to your chambers, forgoing the bedding ceremony.”  
Sansa’s face flooded with relief:  
“Thank you Tyrion. Ser Jaime, please, I know you are enraged, but just allow this to pass, for my sake if nothing else.”   
The look she gave him put any thought of resentment far from his mind, and, as so often when he was in her presence, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. 

The music was ending, and although his bride did not look at him, she grasped his hand tightly, which was enough to urge him out of the hall. He felt a tension building within him as they walked to what were now their chambers. He realised that he felt almost exultant at the thought of being alone with her, of having her all to himself. 

He allowed her to enter the room before him, then shut and locked the door behind them. He thought this would make her feel at ease. However, to ensure that she did not ascribe a more sinister motive to the action, he immediately spoke.   
“My lady, I am truly sorry for the tribulations you suffered today. I think, given all that has happened, it would be perfectly understandable that you should wish to sleep.”   
The smile she shot his way was warm and kind.  
“Ser Jaime, I am now your wife, and the events at our reception do not change that.”   
“My wife, and yet you refer to me by my title?”  
“Perhaps I like your title.”  
Sansa had dropped her eyes as she made this remark, her face turning red, but with a slight smile on her lips. It was all Jaime could do not to laugh with pure joy. Having her tease him like this felt so unspeakably right, but, more than that, it seemed that she was not about to abandon him and return to the Starks and the spark of hope this sent through him would have told him much if he had dared to let himself dwell on it. But whatever would pass between them that night, he needed to feel sure that it was her choice as much as his.   
“Sansa, there has been no bedding, many highborn women do not bleed their first time.”   
Now her smile was laced with melancholy.  
“It makes no difference. We are wed. If I were to return to my family and the marriage was annulled or… something else happened, what would my fate be? Married off to a man who saw himself as doing my family the great favour of relieving them of a daughter whose loyalty and honour were questionable? Left to spend my days as a maid since no man wants the leavings of another?”   
She stopped there, and he was glad, for he did not know if he could bear to think of her meeting either of these fates. She was the most perfect, beautiful thing he had ever seen – she should have had handsome, gallant suitors fighting for her hand; she should have spent her days surrounded by love and happiness. She met his eyes and he was heartened further to see them shining still.  
“No, Ser Jaime, I am your wife now, and I would like things to be pleasant between us. Do you want that too?”  
He felt suddenly he wanted considerably more. However, he nodded, and she smiled although now he was aware of uncertainty radiating from her. She stood silently before him and it was not until she dropped her gaze and began to pull on the sleeve of her gown that he realised how little idea she had of how to proceed.   
“Sansa, shall I help you unlace?”  
She smiled at him and nodded, turning her back to him and brushing her luxuriant mane of red hair over one shoulder.   
He began to unfasten her gown slowly, aware that his mind and senses were fully occupied by her, the delicate floral scent that came from her skin, its almost luminescent white colour, of which he revealed more and more with every eyelet he unhooked. In his darker moods, when he had considered a consummation of this marriage, he’d wondered if he’d be haunted by images of Cersei, but now the moment was almost upon him, every part of him was consumed by Sansa.   
When he had finished, she turned to face him in her shift and her nervousness was palpable, but her determination was too. He put his hand to her chin and gently tilted her face towards him.   
“Sansa, I promise you that in this, as in all else I will do my utmost to provide you with what joy I can.”  
“I know you will, husband.”   
He felt something within him melt at the term and the tone she used to say it. A grin on his lips, he lifted her face closer and leant down to kiss her softly. Almost as soon as their lips touched, he felt her mouth open and he slid his tongue inside. She tasted fresh and sweet. He moved, gently stroking her tongue with his, allowing his fingers to trail from her chin down her neck and along her shoulder, delighting in the shivers he could feel across her silky skin. They remained this way for some moments longer, before he broke away, resting his forehead against hers. She looked up at him with sparkling eyes and now her smile was radiant. He was aware he was grinning back. Without talking he took her hand and led her to the bed. Then he stood before her and removed his clothes. Jaime Lannister had always been a confident man, and he knew that his physique was well restored. Some wounds remained, but they were in no way disfiguring, still he felt unsure of himself at her lack of response. He knew that she was a maiden and that she had little knowledge of what was about to happen, but he suddenly felt very keenly that he would have liked her to display more enthusiasm. He bit back a desire to ask her if the sight of him pleased her, he did not want to make her self-conscious or do anything to cause her anymore discomfort. Not that night and not ever. She had responded to his kiss, perhaps, it was best to concentrate on touch. He moved to the bed and motioned for her to lie down. She did, albeit stiffly. He positioned himself above her and leant down to kiss her mouth once more. She responded readily and he felt his doubts melt away. In this position, he was pressed against her, with only the thin silk of her shift separating their bodies, he could feel her firm, full breasts pressing into his chest, his hips almost resting against hers. Although her legs remained flat on the bed, her arms came up around his neck, and her fingers began to brush through his hair. It was this sensation which caused him to again break the kiss moving his head further into her hands. He grinned down at her and was delighted to see that she seemed considerably more at ease. He moved back to her lips, but, this time, restricted himself to a brief peck, before moving down her face and neck and along her shoulders. 

All the while he paid attention to her responses, muted though these were. It was clear from their earlier conversation that she meant to commit herself to this marriage, and he would do everything within his power to be the husband she deserved. He resolved to learn her body so that he knew exactly how to please her, exactly what gave her most joy. He noted that her breathing was quickening, and she gave occasional gasps and sighs. He gently moved one shoulder strap of her shift down and then the other. He looked into her eyes, watching for any sign of unease, and moved his hand to cup her exposed breast; at this, she sighed deeply and when he moved his fingers over the rosy nipple, she briefly cried out. The sound flooded him with want and an eagerness to hear more: he moved his lips to her other nipple, gently sucking, relishing the way her hips bucked upwards of their own accord. He continued this way for some minutes occasionally inverting the action, spellbound, watching her enjoyment. Her eyes were shut, her breath coming in rapid huffs; several times, he had even caught a whispered ‘yes.’ When he had stopped, she opened her eyes and looked down at him, and he could not help the satisfied grin that crossed his face: he placed his hands on the curve of her waist, revelling in how perfectly it fit his grasp and slid her shift down her legs. His wife was now completely naked before him, and he saw some of the rigidity return, although she made no attempt to cover herself. He kissed his way down her, over the soft skin of her flat stomach, his hands caressing the curve of her hips, his lips reached the thicket of hair between her legs and he moved his arms to position them under her legs, encouraging her to bend her knees off the bed. He lightly ran his fingers over the skin of her inner thigh, each time coming closer to her folds. When he did allow his fingers to brush over them, they were warm and wet, and a guttural moan escaped her throat. Applying slightly more pressure he quickly found her bundle of nerves and stroked it in a circular motion. At the same time, he moved his head down and plunged his tongue inside her. She was soon all but panting and he truly felt that he could have lapped at her sweet cunt all night. Everything about her was alluring and wonderful; the feel of her soft skin against his face and the way she shuddered and sighed every time he flicked his tongue around her was driving him to a desire that felt like the sweetest torture.  
After what seemed like a short time, he began to feel her walls tighten and he sped up the action of his hand. Before long, she was convulsing around him, her thighs clenching against his head. Once her climax had subsided, he gave her a final kiss and moved himself up the bed beside her. The look on his young wife’s face made him feel a king among men. She gazed up at him, trying to catch her breath.   
“Well my lady, I did promise you joy,” Jaime said then grew serious. “What comes next may not be so pleasant – at least, not at first.”   
She nodded but remained silent. Once again he put a hand to her nipple but this time he moved the other down to her intimate parts. She was still wet from his earlier ministrations, although she was incredibly tight. He carefully placed first one then two fingers inside her, watching her face and hating to see the expression of discomfort. He peppered her face, neck and chest with light kisses and this seemed to relax her, when he felt the muscles within her relax her knew it was finally time for him to consummate his marriage.  
He moved himself so he was once again atop her, and, watching her intently, took his member in his hand and slowly moved it inside her. He moved with care, stopping frequently to kiss her. When he felt the barrier of her maidenhead against the tip of his cock, he thrust deeply and quickly feeling the barrier break as his wife cried out. He stopped moving and kissed her fully on the mouth, delighted when she responded to him, albeit with less enthusiasm than before. He had known this would hurt her but he was glad that she did not seem to be in considerable pain. He looked deep into her eyes, wanting to convey to her that this would be the last time he would ever cause her pain.   
Her arms came up again and rested on his shoulders, then moved to his back. As he got deeper, he felt one of her legs entwine with his. He found a rhythm, and knew he would not last long not with the long build up to this and with her as tight as she was. He moved a hand to her breast and began to lavish attention on her nipple, having noticed she was particularly sensitive there. He could feel that his end was near and in his moment of completion he found her name upon his lips.  
He flopped to one side, not fully aware of how much he had needed this release until he had it. Then he turned to Sansa and gently stroked her hair from her face.  
“I am sorry if I caused you pain Sansa, a woman’s first time is often unpleasant.”  
The smile she gave him was as radiant as the one she had worn after their kiss.  
“I knew to expect that Jaime. Much of it was lovely.”  
“I am glad to hear it.” And he truly was, more than he would ever have said.  
She smiled and nuzzled into his neck. He hugged her to him, basking in the feeling of having her so close, of feeling her meld herself against him. After a minute she whispered in his ear;  
“I am very glad that it was _you_ Jaime.”  
Soon, she was fast asleep in his arms. 

Jaime could tell that he would not find slumber so easily that night. His mind was full of images and sensations of what had just occurred. He found himself wishing fervently that his bride had been more abandoned in their coupling. He imagined her wanton before him, urging him on, crying out his name over and over again, and he realised how badly he wanted her to want him with a desperate, all-possessing longing. He knew that if she would give herself to him like that, he would be able to do nothing but respond in kind. Jaime could deceive himself no longer. He had felt an attraction for Sansa for some time now. Despite this, he had more or less succeeded in convincing himself that the main feeling he had for her was one of protectiveness, that their relationship would not be dissimilar to the one Sansa had with Tyrion. But now, he could no longer deny, at least not to himself, that his feelings ran much deeper than that. He began to wonder if he might be falling in love with a wife who could never love him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who have commented, bookmarked or left kudos : )  
> Next chapter we see how Tyrion and Margaery enjoyed the wedding.


	13. In the Lions' Jaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who have commented, bookmarked or left kudos.  
> A look at Jaime and Sansa's wedding from Margaery and Tyrion's perspective

Margaery watched with fond amusement as Loras fiddled with his green and gold doublet, considering himself critically in the mirror.  
“Honestly, brother, there is no need to fret. After all, it is not your wedding – at least, not this time.” Loras threw her a sour look, and Margaery smiled apologetically. She had just as many misgivings about Loras’s upcoming nuptials as he did. She dreaded the thought of Cersei Lannister taking up residence in Highgarden. The place was her childhood home, and she had hoped it would provide sanctuary and security to her, allowing her intervals during which she could cease performing for a short while. Still, she infinitely preferred the thought of Cersei away from court and isolated from lackeys she could use to conspire against the Tyrells. Margaery came to stand beside her brother.   
“I am sorry you have to marry her, Loras.”  
“It does not matter, not really. We made our scheme, it backfired, and I am bearing the cost. I only hope we do not end up paying dearer.”   
“I will not allow that to happen.”  
“You are already paying, a high price Marge. I hope it’s worth it.”  
“It is.” Margaery gave him a tight smile, then offered her arm. “Come, we must go to the sept.”

Accompanied by their father and grandmother, Margaery and Loras made their way to stand near the front of the sept. As soon as they were in their place, Mace noticed Tyrion Lannister passing and stopped him with a greeting. The little Lannister bowed.  
“Lord Mace, Ser Loras, Lady Olenna, Lady Margaery.”  
He was well turned out for the day: Lannister colours suited his dark blonde hair and green eyes. He now sported a full beard, which gave him an air of gravitas. Margaery Tyrell was not without her faults, but she had never been prone to self-delusion. She was fully aware that she was attracted to Tyrion. With his short stature, he was possibly as far removed from the knightly figures maidens were supposed to dream about as a man could be, but, then again, knightly figures had never really appealed to Margaery – they made her think of her little brother. On the few occasions she had spent time with Tyrion, she had felt engaged and captivated; she caught him looking at her once or twice, and wondered if he felt the same. The thought thrilled and disquieted her in equal measure.   
All too soon, he was gone, only to be replaced by an ebullient Joffrey.  
“You look quite beautiful, my lady,” he leered across at Margaery.   
The look made her feel a mild revulsion, and she could tell Loras was disgusted. But she was aware, too, of her grandmother looking at her intently. She plastered a sugary smile on her lips and batted her eyelashes.   
“Your grace is too kind: I only hope I do you justice. I must confess, today you look particularly handsome.”   
He preened himself at this, and she almost rolled her eyes.   
_Remember what you came here to do._  
Fortunately, at that point, something near the entrance caught the king’s attention, and he took his leave. Margaery noticed that Tyrion was by his brother’s side in front of the High Septon, and she felt disgusted by her betrothed.   
_He has gone to get Sansa._

Sure enough, Joffrey was accompanying Sansa along the aisle, grinning with manic glee at the thought of her discomfort. Margaery looked about her and saw Cersei smirking triumphantly at Sansa, the impassive face of Tywin Lannister, with perhaps just a little softness creeping in at witnessing the wedding of his heir. She looked to the front of the sept but could not see Tyrion; she saw Jaime and detected in his stance an expectation that was worlds away from his usual worldly demeanour. Then, she cast her eye to Sansa, giving her friend a nod and a smile. It could not be denied that Sansa was stunningly beautiful in her golden gown, even though it clashed with her maiden cloak of silver grey. Her fiery locks rested around her shoulders, secured close to her head with two pearl clasps. Margaery could see a gentle pride and assurance in her friend’s stance, and she was thankful for it. _Let her be happy,_ she sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening.

Sansa came to stand next to her groom, and the ceremony began. As Jaime removed her maiden cloak and placed the cloak of house Lannister around her shoulders, Margaery ensured her gaze was on Cersei and was rewarded by the distinctly pained look in the blonde woman’s eyes as the cloak of red and gold was draped around the Stark girl. As the vows rang in her ears, Margery’s mood took a darker turn. The thought of being one flesh, one soul, one heart with Joffrey was not a happy one.   
_If only he was at least pleasant, interesting, if only…_   
“If only” would get her nowhere. She may be a willing participant in her family’s scheme to make her queen, but this did not mean she could control her situation as she saw fit. It was not as if her father would ever agree to break her betrothal to Joffrey and marry her to Tyrion Lannister instead. She mentally shook herself: this was ridiculous, it was one thing to admit she was attracted to the man, but where had thoughts of marriage come from?   
_No doubt, it is the romantic setting._  
This thought was slightly ironic, but even the practical Margaery Tyrell could not deny that there seemed to be something tender between the couple standing in front of her. The ceremony was complete, and she followed her family from the sept. 

When a wedding took place in the Reach, it was customary for gifts to be given at a breakfast before the ceremony. However, in King’s Landing, the gifts were presented directly before the wedding feast. Margaery watched with satisfaction as the pair of horses she had persuaded Joffrey would be their gift were walked through the hall. She knew Sansa had spent much time riding in her youth, and she felt this would afford the couple an excuse to get away from everyone from time to time. Joff had insisted that the beasts be brought through the banquet hall, and Margaery was glad of this, because the stir they had caused detracted from any of his attempts to make inappropriate comments. Clearly, this displeased the king, as with a scowl on his face, he immediately snapped his fingers for more wine. It seemed that he, his mother, and Lord Tyrion were in a heated competition as to who could consume the most. Cersei’s gift came next and Margaery saw Sansa’s features tense at the sight of an elaborate tapestry decorated with the sigil and words of House Lannister – the message being given was clear to all.

Next Prince Tommen beamed as his gift of a pair of goblets emblazoned with lions and wolves was presented. Looking at the expressions on the faces of Jaime’s siblings, she had no doubt his uncle had had a hand in helping him choose the present. Tyrion himself came next and handed Sansa a golden harp. Margaery knew her friend had played the instrument in childhood and could see that Sansa was truly touched by the gesture. However, one gift remained to be given. Tywin Lannister strode powerfully toward the pair – an embodiment of his leonine sigil. He presented Jaime with a large sword of Valyrian steel, its pommel golden and studded with rubies. All the while, his gaze was on Sansa, who turned a deadly white. At first, Margaery was unsure why her friend seemed so shaken but the words the Old Lion spoke as he presented his son with the sword made it clear. This blade was at least part of Ned Stark's sword. Margaery’s heart went out to her friend, and she remembered Sansa’s conflicting feelings. As she looked up, she saw Cersei give her a vicious smile. Margaery had seen the Lannisters subdue a wolf, and she was uncertain whether a rose would fare any better.

The feast began. Margaery found she had little appetite. She noticed Sansa’s plate was largely untouched; so was the bride’s goblet of wine. The same could not be said about Cersei, Tyrion, or Joffrey, who all continued to drink heavily. Joffrey’s face acquired a red flush, his speech became slurred, his movements uncoordinated. Her leered at Margaery.  
“Enjoying the feast, my lady?”  
“Of course, your Grace, I always enjoy the time I spend with you.”  
“Yes, yes, I can see that you do! Not like that one over there.”  
He pointed vaguely in the direction of Sansa and Jaime.  
“She was always snivelling and miserable, always! She should have been grateful she did not die alongside her traitor father.”  
“You are ever a font of mercy, your Grace.”  
He titled his head back and frowned at her.  
“Mercy? You say ‘mercy?’ No, no: mercy is for the weak. She is alive because…”  
At this juncture, he slipped an arm around her neck, allowing his hand to wander across the top of her breast. Margery swallowed: it took all her self-possession to keep a smile on her face. He leaned towards her ear and continued in an exaggerated whisper.  
“I mean to take her.”  
Margaery fought the urge to shudder; rage and disgust permeated her. Joffrey was looking at her expectantly, clearly anticipating some form of reply. In that moment, she could not bring herself to accept his words without challenge; however, she knew that such a challenge would enrage him, and he was particularly unstable at the moment. After a brief silence, she let forth a peal of laughter and looked about her, glad of an excuse to break eye contact with him.  
“Look, my love, it seems the banquet is ended: won’t you give the word for the dancing to start?”  
She thanked the Gods for his short attention span while he clapped his hands and rose unsteadily to his feet, bellowing:   
“Yes! Yes! The dancing!”

As was custom, Sansa and Jaime took to the floor as the only couple for the first dance. Margery watched them from her seat, thinking again how perfect they looked together. She cast her mind back to the last time she had seen them dance and, without thinking, her eyes searched out Tyrion. She found he was already gazing upon her with a look that made her feel light-headed. Margaery was used to seeing desire in men’s eyes, but she had never seen anyone look at her the way Tyrion was looking at her in that moment. He was seated across the table from her, some distance away, but, still, she lost herself in his stare, unable to look away even had she wanted to. It physically pained her when he tore his eyes away and abruptly left his seat, almost running from the hall. She stood, intending to follow him, knowing she would catch him easily, but Joffrey grabbed her hands.  
“Come, my lady! Let us join the happy couple on the floor, show my new aunt what was so nearly hers.”  
She fixed on a smile, knowing without a doubt Sansa would have happily watched Tywin Lannister dismantle Winterfell before her eyes if it meant escaping a marriage to Joffrey. Fortunately, the next dance was a fast one, and she did not have to converse with her fiancé. She managed to simper and giggle as he expected, and when it was finished, she curtsied coquettishly and rapidly took her leave. She calculated that someone else would distract him, but a small part of her did not care. She exited the hall and scanned the corridor, quickly spotting Tyrion, who was observing the scene from an interior balcony. He had somehow managed to procure himself another goblet of wine. She went to join him.  
“Your brother and his bride certainly make a handsome couple.”  
It sounded forced even to her own ears, but she had to say something, she had to get him to talk to her, acknowledge her presence. He did not take his eyes from the dancers.  
“Yes, yes, I would even say there were brief moments when they did not look completely miserable. Well, I am sure my family will soon ensure that such moments are a thing of the past.” He took a deep drink and turned to her.  
“Were you happy on your wedding day, my lady? Did you look to Renly with love and affection, did you gaze at him meaningfully as you made your vows and thrill at the thought he was yours and you were his from that day until the end of your days?”  
Margaery held his stare; for the second time that day, she found herself firmly in a lion’s jaws, and though this lion was much smaller, it hurt much more.  
“Why do you ask, my Lord? I think it is clear from your tone that you have decided upon an answer. Renly Baratheon was a good man, and I enjoyed his company – it is more than many can hope for in a marriage. I do not see why I should reproach myself for doing the best I could as a woman in my position.”  
He looked down then, ashamed.  
“My lady, I apologise: I have done you a disservice. It is unfair of me to subject you to my bitter rantings. Weddings do not bring out the best in me. You see, I have said these vows twice. Once, before a blind drunk septon and once to none but the woman who said them back. Both times, I meant what I said with all my heart. Both times, it brought those to whom I made the vows no good and a great deal of hurt. So, when I hear those vows, I cannot help but be reminded that no one will ever derive any joy from being loved by me.”  
“I think any woman who was loved by you would be very fortunate indeed.”   
The words were out of her mouth before she could think about them, and her tone was filled with a yearning she would not have believed herself capable of expressing. She knelt before him, placing her hands on his shoulders; she needed him to know she had meant what she had said.  
He looked at her with round eyes, his lips slightly parted. She felt herself leaning closer to him, her eyes fluttering shut.  
“Tyrion, Tyrion! Where the bloody hell are you?”  
She rocked back on her knees, jumping up as quickly as if she had been burnt, turned, and recognised Bronn, who was eyeing them with an amused expression.   
“What is it, Bronn?” she heard Tyrion’s voice behind her; she did not dare turn around.  
“You told me to come find you if there was any trouble. Well, your shit of a nephew has got the Stark girl on the dance floor, and she don’t look too pleased at whatever he’s saying.”  
 _I should never have left, I should have known he’d go to her…_  
“Very well, I shall try to prevent my brother from becoming a kingslayer a second time. Lady Margery, Sansa may have need of you.”  
“Yes, I will find my brother, and then we can attend her if needs be. Excuse me, sers.”  
She left them and walked briskly down the stairs, her hand on her chest as if it could calm her racing heart.

Tyrion watched Margaery’s retreating form before turning to an amused Bronn.   
“What’s that look for?”  
“Seems like I found you just in time. I’ve wondered why you’d dragged me to that brothel the other week only to sit around like a misery drinking yourself into a stupor.”  
“Bronn, I have no idea what you are talking about, but, as that is not an unusual occurrence, I suggest we deal with the matter at hand.”

They returned to the feast hall. Sansa’s dance with Joffrey was ending. Tyrion approached her, well used to the familiar signs of tension she exhibited when his nephew had been particularly vile.   
“My darling good sister. Enjoying your reception? I know you love to dance, but you look somewhat fatigued: come with me, I will pour you a cup of wine to rejuvenate you.”   
He quickly whisked her away, then said in a soft undertone:   
“What did he say to you, Sansa? You know you can tell me.”   
She released a shaky breath and whispered:   
“He… he started with the usual things about how I was a filthy traitor and that I was lucky to be marrying any Lannister. Then he told me he would… Come to my bed tonight… He said it was his right as king.”   
Tyrion’s face contorted with revulsion and rage.   
“I will fetch my brother.”   
“Tyrion don’t!” the vehemence of Sansa’s exclamation and the way she gripped his arm forced him to take pause. “I know Jaime could overcome Joffrey in his sleep,” _A display of wifely pride so soon? Perhaps there is still hope for them…_ “But what would be the consequences? You cannot tell him.”   
Tyrion could not fault her logic. He could imagine very clearly what Jaime’s reaction would be upon hearing of Joff’s words and while it was pleasant to picture the suffering that would be inflicted on his nephew, the long-term implications were not to be relished.  
“Very well, Sansa, you are the voice of reason. But I cannot let this stand. I will speak to my father. Worry not.” For she had turned a horrified face to him. “He cares nothing for the welfare of any of us, but, I assure you, he will not allow House Lannister to be shamed.”   
He left her then, and approached the dais where his father surveyed the revelry with his usual expression of superiority and mild displeasure. Tyrion simultaneously wished he was blind drunk or stone cold sober: even in this matter, where they were sure to be of a mind, talking with his father always felt like entering combat and he wished he was either at his sharpest or too senseless to care. “Father, if tomorrow you do not wish the talk of the court to be how the heir to Casterley Rock had shared his bride with his nephew, I suggest that you find some way to forgo the bedding ceremony. Tyrion saw rage flare in his father’s eye like a flash of wildfire. It was unusual for him to see such a strong emotion in Tywin, even for a brief instant. His father may be grim, threatening, even aggressive, but he was absolutely always in control.   
“Very well. Go to your brother and his wife, tell them they must remain for the next dance and leave directly after. I will deal with the King.” Tywin managed to make the last two words sound like the worst insult under the sun.   
He found Jaime and Sansa together. Whilst Sansa had endured her torment from Joffrey, Jaime had been in Cersei’s clutches. Now, his arm was wrapped around her waist in a protective manner, and his face was set in grim rage. Tyrion was unsure what, if anything, Sansa had told him, but he supposed it did not take much thinking to imagine why she would be in such a state after an encounter with Joffrey. He had briefly explained Tywin’s proposal to them and although he had been sure at first that Jaime would not relent until he had laid his hands on the king, as soon as Sansa had entreated him to let it go for her sake, Tyrion saw his brother’s features soften and suddenly felt like an intruder. He bowed briefly to them and departed – in search of more wine. 

Tyrion was disappointed to find that the largest supply of wine was located in close proximity to Cersei. He scrambled up on a chair beside her.  
“I am surprised to see you without your betrothed, sweet sister! And on such a romantic occasion, too. Lovely ceremony, did you not think so?”  
She glared at him with undisguised hatred.   
“I wonder why you look so pleased. Do you not realise father will send them to Casterley Rock soon enough? You will be here, all alone, with no big brother to protect you and no little traitor’s daughter to pity you. Everyone else can see you for the monster you really are.”  
Her words cut him deeply, not least because they spoke to some part of him, which he was not proud of, that kept dwelling on the negative consequences of this marriage for him personally. However, he was not about to let her know that she had affected him.   
“While it is true that I may lose our brother’s physical presence, you have lost much more. You have lost him completely.”  
“You little fool, do you really think I would allow that to happen? I will destroy you all before I see him leave me.”  
Her voice had been rising, and Tyrion was not entirely surprised to see Tywin Lannister approach.   
“Tyrion, Cersei you will stop making a scene.”  
“Father, such behaviour is sadly what we must expect from the Imp.”  
“Yet it was your voice I heard raised. It would appear the Tyrells have departed, I suggest you do the same: it is unseemly for you to remain without Ser Loras.”   
Even Cersei knew better than to disregard her father’s suggestion. Tyrion watched her go and commented sardonically:  
“You did the right thing to send her off – we would not want to see the family shamed. It would be almost as bad as presenting a bride with the sword of her father, taken from him prior to his execution at the behest of the same man who now threatens to rape her on her marital bed.”  
“Lady Sansa should be pleased. The sword is now in the possession of her husband; one day, it will belong to her son. As for the king, I can see that you did little or nothing to reign him in during your time as acting Hand. I gave you the opportunity to prove yourself, which you claimed to so desperately desire, but instead you frittered away your days drinking and whoring and you continue to do so.”   
“I was the one who convinced Jaime to go through with this marriage. Was that not what you wanted?”  
“Jaime would have gone through with this marriage regardless. He would not be allowed to shirk his duty. After all, I could not risk the fate of House Lannister resting in your hands.”  
Tywin swept away.

Soon, Joffrey was calling for the bedding: his nephew had spent most of the day drinking to excess and was now barely coherent. Tywin was able to contain him with ease, but the memory of his father’s controlled rage earlier was still fresh in Tyrion’s mind. _And to think you were so desperate for Jaime to give you a grandson, my lord father._ He was glad Margaery had departed some time earlier and was spared a participation in this spectacle. He thought back to his conversation with her: unbidden, Shae’s words came to his mind. _You made me say those words._ He had, and then, so soon after, she’d asked him to leave with her and he had said no. He thought back to Tysha: he could never have imagined the terrible fate his father had in store for her, but, at the same time, what did he really think would happen if he took a commoner to wife? He had hurt them both and he had been unable to protect either of them. He thought about how close he had come to kissing Margaery: he was acutely aware that, when Bronn had surprised them, she had been first to pull away. Tyrion told himself he was glad of that, glad that she was able to protect herself. He watched as the last guests departed then returned to his goblet of wine.


	14. Halcyon Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who have bookmarked, commented or left kudos! 
> 
> I mentioned at the start of the story that I was drawing heavily from tv rather than book cannon. However, I am favouring the books in regards to Tommen's age. He seemed to change from a small boy on his mother's lap to a young adult at a very fast pace in the show, so here he is meant to be around 8.

Sansa lay awake in the bed, watching the first rays of early morning sunshine peek through the shutters. In the first week of her marriage, aside from the day after the wedding, when she had been exhausted, she found that she was awakening earlier than normal, unaccustomed as she was to the sensation of sharing a bed. 

She felt Jaime stir beside her and turned towards him, seeing him frown slightly and hearing him groan. Sansa smiled to herself, feeling a degree of satisfaction at being the only person privy to sight of her husband sleeping. _He’s mine now._ However, Jaime moved again, his head shifting rapidly on the pillow and his groans louder. As his hand flayed out and he gave a cry, Sansa realised he was suffering from a nightmare.  
“Jaime, Jaime, shh… Wake up, it’s alright.”  
He opened his eyes and looked at her in confusion.  
“Sansa?”   
Gods, but he was handsome when newly awake. She felt affection bloom within her.  
“You were crying out in your sleep. I think you must have been having a nightmare.”  
He still looked troubled, and in her desire to reassure him she was more open than she had been with him up till now.  
“I often have nightmares. I dream about the day my father died, and I dream about what happened at the bread riot.”  
Voicing the memories brought them back to her, and she was not aware that she had dropped her head until she felt his gentle hand raising her chin – a gesture he made often, and one she was growing to treasure.  
“Sansa, have you had any such nightmares this week?”  
She nodded and hated to see the darkening of his eyes.  
“Promise me that if you have them again, if they disturb you at any time during the night, you will wake me.”  
“Very well, I promise. Will you tell me what _your_ nightmare was about?”   
“Oh, nothing that makes any sense – I never have had particularly coherent dreams.”  
Sansa sensed that he avoided giving her an answer, and a feeling of annoyance rose within her. As a child, Sansa had dreamed of a husband who would be a strong protector: faced now with the reality of marriage, this seemed decidedly unsatisfying. She wanted Jaime to be open with her and share his joys and pains in the same way she wanted to do with him. The annoyance was swiftly replaced by another feeling as her husband pulled her down towards him and captured her mouth with his. As her eyes fluttered shut, Sansa’s mind dwelt on the pleasure of this marital intimacy. It seemed to her that each time they joined was sweeter than the last, but, as yet, she had not been able to shake off the self-consciousness that accompanied the joy she felt at their coupling. She often found herself wondering if Jaime enjoyed it as much as she did, and she could not help thinking that she should somehow be doing more, trying to actively express the feeling that bubbled within her when they made love. Jaime rolled her onto the bed beneath him, then in a swift movement pulled her to a sitting position as soon as he had entered her wrapping her legs around his waist. In this position, it was very easy for him to find and stroke that spot between her legs which made her feel tingly and boneless. Over the past few days, her moans had become more audible and, as she began to cry out, he looked directly into her eyes. Somehow the intimacy of this embarrassed her, and she rested her head on his shoulder to avoid his gaze, masking the action by gently running her teeth over the skin and muscle there.   
“Mmm, Gods Sansa, Yes!”  
She loved the sound of his voice laden with desire; spurred on by this, she bit slightly harder, giving a yelp as he rubber her faster and thrust deeper. Very soon, she felt the beginnings of the explosion of pleasure she had experienced so frequently when Jaime was within her, and she dug her nails into his back as the sensation overtook her, aware that her husband was also being brought to his release. 

She flopped against him, and he lowered them both back to the pillows. They remained in that position for some minutes, Sansa revelling in the feeling of Jaime stroking her back and placing occasional light kisses on her head. She looked up at him and smiled broadly.   
“I am going to dress now.”  
“You say that as if you expect me to be pleased.”  
She rolled her eyes at him and quickly jumped out of bed, ignoring his mock groan. She moved to where her wash basin and clothes awaited her, having no need to send for Rosa to help her into a simple day dress. As she completed her ablutions, her mind turned to a conversation she had had with her husband earlier that week regarding the gowns she wore. Jaime had seen her wardrobe and declared she appeared to have very few dresses and that she should have more made. When Sansa had inquired, with some of her habitual trepidation concerning Lannisters, whether he had a preference concerning the colour of these gowns, he had fixed her with a devilish grin and stated that his only preference regarding her dresses was that they were upon her person as infrequently as possible. Having turned beetroot red, she had managed to recover herself enough to retort that she would never suggest he spent his days running around in his small clothes. This had only served to make him grin even wider and murmur, “No, but you would like to”. Sansa would never have imagined that this type of banter would be part of married life, nor that she would derive so much pleasure from it. Sparring back and forth with her husband like this was exhilarating, and she felt that she had found more joy in the past week than in a year of the time she spent in King’s Landing before she married Jaime. 

When she had finished dressing, she turned back to him, pleased by the sight of his bare, muscular chest although he had donned his breeches. He took in her appearance with a smile.   
“You look radiant as always, lady wife.”  
Such gallant compliments certainly were something Sansa had envisaged when she had dreamed of married life, and they brought her just as much enjoyment as she had always hoped. She had purposefully chosen a turquoise gown that day, having remembered Jaime complimenting her on how the colour brought out her eyes some days previously. Her mood was dampened considerably by his next words:  
“I am afraid, though, that you will have to change before dinner in my father’s apartments.”  
She thought of the Lannister family dinner they had been summoned to several days earlier. It had started out pleasantly enough; Jaime had ensured that she was seated between himself and Tyrion, and she had found conversing with both brothers together enjoyable: she noticed how easy they were in each other’s company, and such genuine fraternal affection in a family which seemed to abound with more hostile emotions warmed her heart. However, as the evening wore on, Tyrion had become more withdrawn, perhaps in response to the constant sniping his sister and nephew subjected him to. The three drank heavily, and, of course, Sansa herself was not spared the odd barb from Cersei. When Joffrey had begun asking her for details of her wedding night, Tywin had swiftly stepped in to reprimand him. Unfortunately for the king, he did not accurately read the warning signs which had been clear to everyone else and remarked that, as there had been no bedding, he was simply trying to ascertain that Sansa was taking her duties as a Lady of Lannister seriously. Things had ended abruptly after this.   
She pulled herself from this reverie to look at Jaime. His own lack of enthusiasm and the sorry look he gave her, did much to soften the blow, and she was able to muster a smile and lightly reply: “There is much of the day before dinner.”  
This seemed to reassure him, and he gave her a smile of his own.  
“Ser Loras and Lady Margaery will be there, too: with any luck, you may not have to speak to a Lannister at any point.”  
 _I am a Lannister now._  
But somehow the thought did not sting as much as she would have expected. Newly married though she was, Sansa already found she could not bring herself to deeply regret being Jaime’s wife. This realisation warmed her, and she moved towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist.  
“I’ll have you know there is one Lannister in particular I am very fond of.”  
“Yes, Tyrion is good company.”  
“I am not talking about Tyrion.”  
She said this in a more serious tone and looked at him intently, trying to convey to him a depth of feeling that she was beginning to acknowledge to herself but which as yet she had not dared voice. He said nothing and looked back at her with an expression she could not quite read. She would not have described him as appearing troubled – conflicted, perhaps. After a moment, he kissed her soundly and pulled away.  
“I will finish dressing now, if my lady permits. I must spend the morning at the training ground, but I was wondering if you would like to give our fine grey horses some exercise this afternoon?”  
She smiled and nodded, her delight at the thought of spending some time with him outside of the confines of the Red Keep chasing away any lingering doubts regarding his reaction to their conversation.

When Jaime had left, Sansa seated herself in the solar, intent on practicing her new harp. It was some years since she had picked up the instrument, and melodies she would once have found simple now required great concentration. This was the reason that Sansa had chosen to start her morning with this pursuit. She was such a proficient sewer that even elaborate stitching could not prevent her mind from wandering, and she did not want to think. The last week had been the happiest she had had in a long time, and, in many ways, represented the fulfilment of the hopes she had harboured for her future as a young girl. She was married to a handsome, charming knight, who treated her with tenderness and respect, and for whom she felt more and more affection with every passing day. She did not want to think about the fact that this man was part of the family who had taken her father’s head and who were currently at war with her brother. She did not want to think about the fact that he was only here and able to marry her because her own mother had freed him in the hope that this would secure Sansa’s release. After all the strain and suffering she had endured, Sansa wanted to enjoy the happiness she had presently been gifted with for as long as she could. 

After some time playing, she set the harp down; it had been a generous and thoughtful gift from Tyrion. She had meant it when she had told him she was proud to call him her brother: she valued his stalwart friendship and protection. _He’s protected you far better than Robb,_ whispered a wicked little voice in her head. She remembered their short conversation concerning the little Lannister’s marriage and wondered what exactly had occurred. A part of her wanted to question Jaime about it, but she was hesitant to do so: as easy as they were with one another, their conversation had rarely strayed far beyond superficial matters, and she was reluctant to pry, in case it somehow broke the happy enchantment of her current situation. 

Thinking of Tyrion reminded her of the books she had asked him to lend her and which had been delivered to her yesterday. She walked to the small trunk they had arrived in and, having inspected the titles, selected _‘A History of the Principal Houses of the Westerlands’._ Sansa was determined that she would be as good a wife to Jaime as she possibly could, and she knew that, sooner or later, this would mean undertaking the duties of the Lady of Casterly Rock. More than that, her own lady mother had taken charge of Winterfell whilst her father fought the Greyjoy rebellion, and, although she shuddered to think of Jaime leaving her side to make war, she hoped that, if he did, he would trust her to rule in his stead. Sansa knew that many people in her life had viewed her as little more than a pretty, empty-headed thing, and while her husband have given no indication that this was his opinion, she felt it very important not to give him cause to.

She spent several hours studying Westerlands bannermen. After a light lunch, she left her chambers to meet Jaime at the stables. As she walked through the courtyard, a small voice stopped her in her tracks.   
“Lady Sansa! Lady Sansa! Have you seen Ser Pounce?”   
She turned and smiled at young Tommen Baratheon running towards her, a troubled frown on his usually cheerful face.   
“I am afraid I have not, Prince Tommen, and, please, Sansa is fine, or Aunt Sansa, if you prefer.”  
He smiled back at her, and she reflected that mercifully, he was very different from his monstrous elder brother. She could tell that he was worried about the loss of his cat. It seemed most likely that the creature was simply off hunting somewhere, and Sansa decided it would be best to find some way of diverting Tommen for a while. “Prince Tommen, I am sure Ser Pounce will return when he has finished doing whatever cats like to do out of our sight. In the meantime, your uncle Jaime and I are going riding, would you like to join us?”  
Tommen flushed with pleasure and smiled shyly:  
“Are you sure Uncle Jaime won’t mind?”  
“You leave him to me.”   
She was delighted to see his smile become a grin: it called to her mind the beaming smiles Jaime bestowed on her from time to time. 

They approached the stables to find Jaime waiting. He noticed Sansa first and moved to embrace her, then his eyes rested on Tommen, and Sansa could not help but notice a tension come over him. Anxious that the boy should not become aware of it and feel slighted, she placed an arm round Tommen’s shoulder and stated firmly.  
“Jaime, I happened upon Prince Tommen on my way here and invited him to join us this afternoon. I said I was sure you would be delighted.”  
Jaime looked at her for a moment, a slight frown on his face. Then he smiled quickly.  
“Of course! Always a pleasure to spend time with my favourite nephew. I hope you haven’t been trying to steal my wife’s heart, Tommen.”  
“Uncle Jaime!”  
Tommen was clearly just as susceptible to his uncle’s teasing as she was. The prince’s pony was soon saddled alongside their mounts, and the three of them proceeded to the King’s Wood. Observing her companions, Sansa noticed that Tommen seemed somewhat in awe of Jaime. She had seen Tyrion interact with his younger nephew on several occasions and knew that the two were very fond of each other. It was clear that Tommen was not quite as used to coming out of his shell with Jaime. For his part, she noticed that her husband seemed kind and affectionate towards his nephew, although, more than once, he lapsed into silence, leaving Sansa to converse with the boy while he simply stared at the two of them. Sansa concluded that Jaime was fond of his younger nephew, but perhaps felt somewhat unsure around children. She began to hope she could encourage her husband to spend more time with the boy: Tommen clearly lacked confidence, and Jaime could certainly help him stand up to Joffrey. 

When they returned from their ride and took their leave of the prince, Tommen surprised her by throwing his arms around her.   
“Aunt Sansa, I am glad you did not marry Joffrey. He’s never kind. I do not spend much time with Uncle Jaime, but he’s always kind to me.”  
Sansa returned his hug and smiled.  
“He’s always kind to me, too.”  
She glanced up at Jaime as she said this and once again witnessed conflicting emotions chase each other across his face. She could not imagine what about her exchange with Tommen could have triggered this, but she was already anticipating returning to their rooms and did not dwell on it.

“I have drawn you a bath, m’lady.”  
“Thank you, Rosa, you may leave now. Return when it’s time to dress for dinner, please.”  
Jaime raised an eyebrow at Sansa as her handmaiden departed.  
“Only one bath? And what am I to do? I can hardly present myself to my lord father stinking of horses, can I?”  
“Indeed, you cannot husband. How remiss of me, I suppose we shall both have to get into my bath and make the best of it.”  
Sansa grabbed his hand, delighted by the grin that lit up his face at this boldness on her part. If she had to endure a Lannister family dinner, she could at least enjoy herself beforehand.


	15. Mastering Coin

Tyrion sat in the room generally reserved for Small Council meetings, pouring over yet another vast ledger of income and expenditure. The role of Master of Coin was a dull one after the high politics and intrigue he had enjoyed while acting Hand. That being said, it was also far more interesting than ensuring the efficient flow of shit through the sewers of Casterley Rock. Tyrion was by now extremely familiar with the figures laid out before him and he could see that everything did not add up. It was true that Robert had spent lavishly on tourneys and festivities, a habit which continued once Joffrey assumed the throne. However; Tyrion still could not see how this would have resulted in the crown being in quite so much debt as it was. He knew that the Iron Bank would demand repayment sooner or later and he also knew that Danaerys Targaryen sat across the narrow sea with three dragons which grew bigger every day. Tyrion misliked this combination of circumstances greatly and was throwing himself into trying to determine what he could do counter them. 

As weighty as the issue was, he could acknowledge to himself that it provided one blessing; it occupied his mind and prevented him from dwelling on his own situation. Tyrion had never harboured any illusion that his father would acknowledge him as his heir. Despite still being a young boy, by the time Jaime had joined the Kingsguard Tyrion had been all too aware of the disdain Tywin looked upon him with. He had hoped that ultimately his father’s desire to maintain a direct legacy may override his outrage at his younger son’s deficiencies and that he would make no provision to prevent Tyrion from succeeding him as Lord of Casterley Rock. Clearly now this would not be happening and Tyrion wondered where it left him. That was not to say he was not happy for his brother and Sansa; the three of them often spent time together and Tyrion was gratified to observe that his brother seemed lighter and freer than he had in years. Sansa too seemed to have a sparkle about her that had been distinctly absent before and as well as the selfless joy he felt for the pair, Tyrion harboured some more spiteful satisfaction at the growing conviction that Cersei had indeed completely lost any hold she had on Jaime for good.   
No, although the loss of any hope he would inherit the Westerlands was worth it to feel the battle for his brother’s heart was irrevocably won, it was still a loss. Of course he had a position at court and he did enjoy the Game, but all of that depended on the whim of others and his chances of ever becoming Hand to Joffrey were about as high as those of Tywin declaring him his favourite son. That was without his nephew knowing of the feelings Tyrion harboured for the woman set to be his queen…

The door opened and his sweet sister strode in, followed by Joffrey who sauntered to a place at the head of the table.   
“Aren’t they here yet?”  
“Unless they are hiding behind the curtains sister I would say not.”  
“Such a funny little fellow aren’t you?”  
“I like to think so, yes.”  
Cersei sneered at him, eyes narrowed. Anything to do with her son’s impending wedding seemed to bring out more venom in her than normal. Tyrion knew how she felt.   
At that moment Mace Tyrell arrived, flanked by his daughter and mother. _The fat flower may be Lord of Highgarden but it is easy to see who really runs things. Cersei should have taken some lessons from the Tyrell women regarding the pacification of overweight fools; we would all be in a better situation than we are._ Margaery glanced at him and nodded, he noticed that her dress that day was somewhat muted compared to her usual attire and wondered if she had been concerned he would not be able to control himself had she revealed too much of her body. He was unable to help his mind from briefly wandering to thoughts of what such a loss of control would lead to and thus missed the opening remarks of his nephew.   
“Uncle! Answer your king when he speaks to you!”  
“Apologies your Grace, I was temporarily stunned by finding myself in the presence of so much greatness at one time.”  
Gods, Mace Tyrell looked as if he had actually taken the remark as a compliment! _Clearly intelligence misses a generation in the Reach_ Joffrey himself seemed somewhat unsure whether he had been insulted or not and paused for a moment before continuing;   
“As I was saying Lord Tyrell, my lady can request anything she desires in regards to the wedding, fine foods, lavish entertainment, free flowing wine, I mean to see that it is a celebration which is talked of in all the kingdoms for years to come.”   
Tyrion fought the urge to roll his eyes;  
“Inciting another Bread Riot by throwing a lavish entertainment while you have allowed the small folk to starve will certainly achieve that your Grace.”  
Joffrey glared at his uncle and was clearly working up to an angry retort when Margaery laid a conciliatory hand on the king’s arm.  
“I thank you for your abundant generosity Your Grace, but your uncle is correct to ensure that a simple girl such as myself does not allow herself to be carried away by romantic dreams and forget practical matters. Lord Tyrion, I have been thinking that an appropriate gesture would be to allow the broken meats from the wedding to be distributed amongst the poor of King’s Landing. I have taken the opportunity to engage in some small charitable works during my time in the city and I am well acquainted with a number of orphanages and poor houses which could benefit from such a donation.”   
He knew he should be grateful to her for saving him from being subjected to one of Joffrey’s enraged tirades. But as Tyrion looked at Margaery he felt a sort of petulant resentment _Why must she be beautiful and quick witted? If she was simply a pretty fool I am sure I would have lost this fascination with her long ago_  
It was clear from the expression on Cersei’s face that she had also reacted to Maragery’s words in a negative fashion.  
“How sweet of you Lady Margaery, however I think you will find that maintaining the security of the crown is much more dependent on establishing your power than sullying your gowns running after filthy, little vagrants. My son is quite right to state that this wedding should be used as an opportunity to display his dominance. There have been too many in recent years who have sought to usurp him and this is also a celebration of their abject failure to do so.”  
“Cersei, whilst I am in no doubt that we will defeat Robb Stark in due course I must remind you we have yet to do so. As Master of Coin, I cannot sanction large crown expenditure when our war chest is so depleted.”   
His sister glared at him before fixing Mace Tyrell will a sickly smile;  
“My brother seems to forget that as well as Queen I am a Lannister. Any shortfall in crown moneys can easily be covered from the gold at Casterley Rock.”  
Lady Olenna raised her eyebrows;  
“Is that so? You surprise me, having attended your brother’s wedding to Sansa Stark, I would certainly not have thought the Lannisters had money to spare for such festivities.”  
“That was a different matter entirely. For one thing we had no bridal family to consider.”  
“In that case, may I enquire which members of House Tyrell you intend to execute prior to this ceremony in order to keep your costs down?”  
As amusing as it was to watch Cersei fail miserably in her verbal duel with the Queen of Thorns, Tyrion perceived an advantage here which he felt obligated to capitalise on.  
“I think you may have hit upon an important point sister. My brother’s wedding to Sansa Stark, whilst clearly a source of great joy to the couple involved, must also be considered from the more practical viewpoint of having taken place between a house loyal to the crown and traitorous one. I meant what I said earlier in regards to Robb Stark’s inevitable defeat, only yesterday we were informed that he has lost half his army as a result of beheading Lord Karstark. However, Lady Margaery is a daughter of House Tyrell who stand united with House Lannister as equals upholding the Baratheon crown.”  
Cersei had looked more and more enraged throughout this speech and when he mentioned house Tyrell’s equality with house Lannister she almost chocked on her wine. However Tyrion focused his attention on Joffrey.  
“Your Grace, your mother is correct to remind you of your proud Lannister heritage but never forget you are first and foremost our King and that means all houses must bow down before you, even my own.”  
Such words were meat and drink to Joff and Tyrion could see him puffing himself up ridiculously.  
“Furthermore when you marry Lady Margaery she will become your Queen and I have no doubt she will further strengthen the position of the royal family and be a jewel in your crown _That is the first honest thing I have said to you today nephew ._ As such I think we can view this wedding as something of a partnership and as I can see Lord Tyrell has insightfully grasped this too, I have no doubt he is keen to agree that House Tyrell will bear at least half the cost of the nuptial celebrations.”   
Mace Tyrell appeared completely befuddled, not so his mother who fixed Tyrion with a piercing gaze.  
“Lord Tyrion, what pretty words to say your coffers are empty.”  
“That is not what I am saying at all my Lady, I know that house Tyrell is rightly proud of its bounteous situation. I am suggesting that you also use the celebration as a way of displaying this to all in the capital.”  
He looked at her, hoping fervently to convey the real meaning of his words _Show my father and my sister that this time Joffrey’s betrothed will not be left friendless and powerless and at his mercy. Surely this will at least spare her the worst excesses of his cruelty._ Tyrion felt bile rise within him at the thought of what Margaery might be subjected to once she was wed. He was highly impressed by how well she had managed his nephew to date, but he knew that it was pure fantasy to imagine she would continue indefinitely in an unscathed state. Lady Olenna held his gaze a moment longer then nodded.   
Joffrey, who had clearly lost interest when the conversation ceased to revolve on his kingly prowess stood; “Excellent, well if all that is agreed I am sure we can leave the details for another time. I will take my leave of you now as I have important business to attend to.”  
He at least remembered to give his farewell appropriately before he strode out, followed by Cersei who said nothing and left with a wine glass in hand.   
“Thank you for your diligence regarding these matters Lord Tyrion.”   
Margaery smiled at him, seeming almost to hold her breath and look at him for more than a moment before taking her father’s arm and ushering him towards the door. Tyrion watched their exit and realised he was now alone with the Queen of Thorns, she shot him a crooked smile.  
“Very good Imp, your father must be so proud.”  
“You cannot imagine my lady.”  
“I rather think I can. I met Tywin Lannister at court as a young man. Just as much of a stuck up prig then as he is now! Then there was that brother always fawning round him, Calvin? Karven?”  
“His younger brother Kevan?”  
“Yes Kevan. I hardly remember him, he spent all his time in your father’s shadow. Now, your uncle Gerion…”  
Tyrion could not help but smile at this mention of his father’s youngest brother and his own favourite uncle. Olenna had a decidedly wicked expression on her face, reminiscent of one he had noticed on her granddaughter from time to time.   
“Your uncle Gerion had wit, he had charm and let me tell you there was something about him that told you he could take your virtue from you and it would be more than worth living your life as a fallen woman. A pity he was heir to nothing. Good day Lord Tyrion.”  
The sharpness in her tone at the end of these musings and the way she had looked at him intently, left Tyrion in no doubt that he was being warned. He laughed bitterly and reflected that it was in keeping with his luck in general to receive such a warning regarding a romantic relationship which would never exist outside the confines of his own mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, commented or left kudos : )


	16. A Lioness Has Claws

Jaime swiftly dodged his opponent’s blade, shifting his stance and feigning to the left before parrying rapidly. Sword fighting had been second nature to him since boyhood, and while his life had been turned upside down in almost every other respect since his return to the capital, this was blessedly familiar. No tension, no mental or emotional conflict; just excelling at something which occupied his mind and body to the fullest. He no longer needed to practice in secret with Bronn. He still tired quicker than he would have done prior to his captivity and he found that he was more cautious than he had been in the past, but, even with these slight deficiencies, his reputation remained well deserved. 

The bout won, he bowed and exited the field; he was finished for the day and would return to his wife. _My Sansa _. Just thinking of her quickened his pace, a smile tugging at his lips at the anticipation of once again being in her presence. His mind ran over all the things he could do to please her; what he might say to bring a smile to her lips and a flush to her cheeks. When he reflected on the many years he’d spent in thrall to Cersei, he could see that he had never spent time considering such things. Cersei had been firmly in control and had left him no space for wondering what would please her – she had simply demanded it. Jaime could acknowledge now that, while he had set the path of his entire life around her wants and wishes, she had never been willing to even consider doing the same for him. He wondered where he would be right now had his father managed to marry her off to Rhaegar Targaryen or if Robert had lived up to his heroic persona. What he knew for certain was that Sansa would never seek to dominate him in this way and, perversely, a small part of him wished that she would. Jaime wanted desperately to make his wife happy; he felt compelled to know all that she desired, so that he could be the one to give it to her. The feeling which had stolen over him on his wedding night had only intensified and now there was no room for doubt. He loved Sansa more than he had ever loved anyone. But how could he tell her when there were so many reasons she could never love him back? He wished he truly was the strong, honourable knight she deserved. What would she think, if he told her of all the things he’d done in the past, the ways he’d dishonoured himself? What if she had seen him as a weak, wretched captive, would she have turned from him as Cersei had? Jaime had moments when he yearned to tell her the truth of what had happened with Aerys; he felt sure that she would understand and would know that he was not simply a traitor to his king, yet he felt he could not. How could he expect her to acknowledge how wrong her father had been about him when his family had derided the man for so long? And how could ever tell her any of this without confessing that it was he who had crippled her brother? Jaime had been unrepentant about pushing Bran at the time but now he acknowledged with grim humour he was paying the debt.  
So although Jaime wished nothing more than to open his heart and soul to the woman he now privately recognised as the keeper of both he would not. He would simply stay by her side and give her what joy he could, at the same time basking in the sweetest happiness he had ever tasted. __

____

He rounded the corner in the corridor leading to their chambers and was dismayed to see Cersei coming his way. She flashed him a smile that seemed altogether too satisfied for his liking and made as if to pass him without a word. He grabbed her arm and angrily hissed:  
“What have you been doing?”  
She wrenched free of his grasp and gave him another smile.  
“You should be thanking me. I was offering your little wife a sisterly ear. I think it would be best if you hurried along to her now, she seemed rather upset when I left.”  
Jaime glared at her and stalked toward his door, his heart in his mouth. As soon as he opened it, Sansa ran to him and flung herself into his arms. Jaime felt almost elated with relief: clearly, Cersei had told her nothing about the two of them. His spirit also soared at this rare instance of Sansa being the one to initiate physical contact; generally, it was he who had to approach her first.  
“I would say this was a delightful welcome home, if I did not suspect it is connected to the recent departure of my sweet sister.”  
She turned her face up to him and gave him a small smile.  
“I should not let her bother me, but, truly, I do not understand why she cannot simply leave me alone.”  
“What was the reason for her visit today?”  
Sansa looked embarrassed and began to fidget with the sleeve of her gown.  
“She wished to enquire whether I had…Whether I was with child. She said she expected I would find myself in that state quickly as my mother conceived Robb on her wedding night.”  
Jaime frowned. Sansa had bled the week before, but if they continued to share their marital bed as they were doing, it was highly likely they would have a child sooner or later. After all, her mother had borne Ned Stark five babes, and Jaime knew himself to be fertile. So cautious was he of even thinking anything which could shatter the precious, fragile happiness he had found in his marriage that he had purposely not considered the ramifications of such a development. Sansa was looking up at him again.  
“Jaime,” she began tentatively: “I was thinking, that perhaps, if you were amenable, if we were to have a son, we could call him Robert and then, amongst ourselves, he could be known as Robb. I thought that Joffrey and your father would not object to us naming our son after the King’s own sire.”  
_Gods, what a jape!_  
He looked at his wife, feeling like the blackguard so many had told him he was, and thought once again that he could never be truly worthy of someone so good and pure. He managed to smile and tilt up her chin with his hand.  
“Sansa, if we have a son, or indeed a daughter, they can have any name you choose. I am in no doubt that you will be the best mother a child could wish for, and it seems only right that you determine their names.”  
She gifted him with one of her warm smiles.  
“I am equally sure that you will be a wonderful father, husband.”  
_If you only knew the truth, wife. I have three children already, and it cannot be said that I am any father to them, wonderful or otherwise._  
“I suppose I should wash myself and change. I must look my best for my father.”  
“Oh, Jaime, Cersei left this note for you.”  
She reached into the pocket of her gown and handed him the sealed missive. He tore it open and read:  
_I told her nothing, this time. But you know that I can and I would. It would be best to ensure you give me no reason to._  
Gods, she was a hateful bitch! _Her whole life she has sought to control me; I am simply a puppet to her._  
He held the missive to a candle and threw it into the grate of the fire.  
“It appears that we are not required at the family dinner, after all. Send Rosa to bring us some from the kitchen instead. Tonight, I shall be all yours.”  
Sansa had looked puzzled at first, but at his last words a delighted grin spread across her face and she went to instruct her handmaiden to collect their meal. 

Later, as they sat dining, she enquired as to how his afternoon had been. He recounted the outcome of his practice bout, and Sansa replied almost without thinking:  
“So you practice on the training ground now?”  
He fixed her with an amused stare:  
“Where else would I practice, lady wife?”  
She blushed to the roots of her hair.  
“Once, some time ago, I… I happened upon you practicing down some steps near the shore.”  
“ ‘Happened upon me?’ Down some steps which lead to nowhere? If I did not know better, I would say you had been spying upon me.”  
“No! I heard a noise and wanted to see what the cause was.”  
“A likely story. I shall have to find my revenge, maybe I shall spy on you.”  
“If you do, I have no doubt you will be very bored. I cannot imagine there is much diversion in watching me sew, play the harp or walk through the gardens with Lady Margaery.”  
_My sweet Sansa, you could not be more wrong. I could watch you all day, the way your clear, blue eyes sparkle and shine, the movement of your hair and how it catches the light, the grace in every look and gesture. I would never get bored._  
As they sat, gently teasing each other, he wished fervently that everything was as simple as this. That what passed between them was the true depth of their situation. If only it were the case that he was simply Tywin Lannister’s heir, betrothed to Ned Stark’s eldest daughter to preserve the peace of the realm; that they had met before he had been burdened with dishonour and before she had been robbed of all that was dear to her, and they had fallen in love. If that were the case, he would have been able to relish these moments of bliss without the dread that was never far from his mind – that it could all be snatched away so easily from him.  
Sansa placed her hand on his:  
“Jaime, I am truly sorry if our wedding has caused a rift between you and Cersei. I know that when I was first in King’s Landing you were close.”  
Jaime wondered if the Gods were using her to mock him, to punish him for his crimes against them. She was gazing at him in apprehension, awaiting his answer.  
“Sansa please do not trouble yourself in regards to that. I can assure you, my sister and I had become estranged long before our betrothal was planned. When I arrived in King’s Landing, I misliked what I heard about Joffrey’s behaviour, not least his despicable treatment of you. I challenged him about it, and she took his side.”  
His wife smiled at him, although her eyes remained troubled.  
“I am so grateful that you championed me, but I do not know if you can blame Cersei for taking her son’s side. She told me once I should try to love no one but my children. I think it must be an awful fate to hate the man who is their father.”  
Jaime found himself reeling at the unintended blow in his wife’s words and his answer was abrupt.  
“Would you say that poisoning Tommen would have been showing that love? For when I found her in the throne room on the night of the battle of Blackwater, she was preparing to do just that.”  
Sansa’s shock was written on her face. Jaime took her other hand and continued in a softer tone:  
“My sister is a hateful woman and my only regret is that it took me so long to see the truth of it. You remember you told me that we should not leave when I had asked you to escape with me? You said Tyrion needed me, and you were right. She tried to have him killed. He fought in the battle to save her and her children, and she tried to have him killed. That alone is reason enough for me to want as little to do with her as possible.”  
The door to their chambers began to open. He tensed further and was out of the chair immediately. He felt his heart begin to pound sickeningly, as it opened to reveal Cersei. He could tell she had imbibed a significant amount of alcohol since he had seen her last. She did not slur and stagger as her repugnant firstborn had done at Jaime’s wedding, but a certain look in her eye and tilt of her head told him his sister was drunk, and this made her more dangerous than ever.  
“Good evening, brother, it looks very cosy in here. I was wondering why the two of you did not deign to join us for dinner?”  
“Cersei, you must excuse us, Sansa is indisposed.”  
Cersei laughed, a brittle, hateful sound.  
“You forget, dear brother, that I had an intimate discussion with your little wife this afternoon, and I know that definitely not to be the case.”  
Jaime walked towards his sister and put his hand on the door.  
“Cersei, leave. _Now._ ”  
“You presume to order me around?”  
She had placed her hand roughly on his arm as if to pull him away, and, to his dismay, he heard Sansa speak:  
“Your Grace, I think you should take your hands off my husband, and I think you should leave our rooms.”  
Now he knew his heart would burst. Sansa was so self-possessed and he knew he should feel pride at her standing up to Cersei in this way; but all he could feel was a cold dread seep through him. His sister tilted her head to one side.  
“How adorable, a little dove pretending she is a lion.”  
“Do not speak to me about lions! Jaime has told me what you tried to do to Tyrion, what you were going to do to Tommen – you care nothing for your family.”  
Jaime knew then that all was lost.  
“ _I_ care nothing for my family? Yet you are the one who sits smilingly beside the man who pushed your little brother from a tower.”  
The colour drained from his wife’s face. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Cersei was a picture of triumphant malice.  
“So that was not part of the charming confidences your husband shared with you? Well, since we’re getting things off our chest, you probably want to know what prompted this horrific act. You see, your father was right all along. Right about Jaime and me, right about our children. Your little brother saw us fucking in a tower, so Jaime pushed him. He did it for love of me.”  
Sansa’s eyes were filling with tears, but she managed to look Cersei in the eye.  
“Get out of my chambers, now.”  
“As you wish, dear sister, but remember this: Jaime has wed and bed you, all know it. You are married to the man who tried to kill your brother, and there is nothing you can do about it. Good night.”  
As soon as the door shut, Sansa turned to him desperately.  
“Jaime, tell me it is not true, please! Tell me she was lying.”  
Gods, he had never wished for anything so much as to be able to tell her exactly that. He looked at her and shook his head.  
“Sansa, I am so very sorry…”  
She shrieked – there was no other word to describe it. She moved towards him and pummelled his chest with her fists, tears streaming down her face. He tried to grab her hands.  
“Sansa, please – ”  
She stepped back, and the look she gave him blazed with anger and hurt.  
“Don’t! Don’t touch me. How could you? How could you make me think you cared? How?”  
“I do care, I care so much!”  
She shook her head.  
“More lies! More faithless, Lannister lies!”  
The tears continued to fall, but her face acquired a look similar to the cold mask he had seen in the days of their betrothal. Only this time it was harder still, and it hurt more to look at.  
“I apologise for my outburst, my lord husband. If you will permit it, I shall retire to the solar for the night.”  
“Sansa please! At least sleep in the bed, I will stay here.”  
“I thank you, lord husband. You are a generous lord. If it please you, I would ask you to fulfil your vow and return me to my mother and brother as swiftly as possible.”  
She seemed to break down as she finished talking and rapidly turned and made for their bedroom,  
the door shutting behind her feeling like a direct blow to his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me! The truth had to come out. Thanks to those who have bookmarked left kudos or commented


	17. A Friend In Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented, bookmarked or left kudos :)
> 
> Let's see if Tyrion and Margaery can help Jaime and Sansa...

Tyrion arrived at Sansa and Jaime’s chambers to find his brother with his back to him staring out of a window. The page who had sent for him had only said he was to attend his brother immediately. Tyrion called out a greeting, and, as he did, he looked around the room for Sansa. His brother gave no response, and Tyrion drew close to him.  
“Jaime, I got your message. What has happened? Where is Sansa?”  
Jaime turned a bleak countenance towards him.  
“Cersei came here last night. She told Sansa. She told her everything about us and about Bran Stark.”  
Tyrion drew breath sharply. Of course, he had known about the truth behind the boy’s fall. As he watched Sansa and Jaime grow closer, he had wondered if his brother would tell his wife what had happened. As for Jaime and Cersei’s relationship, he had felt it would come out sooner or later: he knew that Sansa was smarter than she let on, and he had more than once thought he should suggest to his brother that some sort of confession may be wise before he found himself confronted.   
“I am surprised at our sweet sister. I thought she would have tried to hold this over your head rather than reveal it to Sansa.”  
Jaime nodded, a mirthless smirk crossing his face.  
“She had certainly given me that impression on more than one occasion. I do not think she intended to tell Sansa when she appeared, but Sansa provoked her by asking her to leave: before Cersei arrived we had been talking about your run in with Mandon More and how I found Cersei in the throne room with Tommen the night I returned…”  
Tyrion nodded grimly; that sounded like his sister – impulsively cruel, seeking to hurt the woman she perceived as having taken what belonged to her. Jaime looked at his brother imploringly.  
“Tyrion, what in the name of the Seven can I do? Sansa will not talk to me, she will not let me enter our room. She has asked me to return her to her mother, but I fear she may… She might do herself some harm if she is left alone much longer.”  
“Jaime! She is not going to want to talk to me any more than she does you. She will have guessed that I knew of all this. I am sure she is torturing herself with thoughts of the scheming Lannister brothers laughing at her naivety when her back was turned.”   
Jaime looked devastated at this image, and Tyrion regretted his words. But he had been blindsided by the events and was agitated at his lack of ability to help the two people he cared for to address the damage done to them. He wished Shae was here, which in turn made him think of how little she had been on his mind in these past few weeks.  
“Jaime, I think we must send for Lady Margaery.”  
“Oh yes, brother, why do we not just announce from the rooftops mine and Cersei’s affair?!”  
Tyrion rolled his eyes.   
“Jaime, if you think for one second Margaery Tyrell is not fully aware of her betrothed’s true parentage, you have less wits than I give you credit for! Why do you think the Tyrells married her to Renly in the first place? Moreover, she has nothing to gain from any of this coming out. She is betrothed to Joffrey because he is king, and she wants to be queen.” _If only it were I who sat on the Iron Throne…_ Tyrion chased the thought from his mind. All he had said to his brother was true, but there was more to it, which he did not wish to share even with Jaime. He may have doubted Margaery’s intentions towards Sansa at first, but as he had spent more time with the Tyrell girl, he had come to view her pronouncement that she and him were alike as increasingly accurate. He could see that she was loyal to those who were loyal to her and that, although she was willing to scheme and certainly had the mind for it, she was not manipulative to a point where it hurt innocents. Somehow, he trusted Margaery to do right by Sansa, and he felt almost embarrassed to admit this; trust was not something Tyrion Lannister placed in anyone easily, and he did not want to think too much about what made him give it to Margaery. 

 

Margaery looked up from the letter she was writing to her mother when there was a knock on the door. Her handmaiden admitted Podrick Payne, who managed to keep his eyes glued to his feet whilst he handed her a note from Lord Tyrion and mumbled an explanation. Loras eyed his sister with raised brows, and when they were alone remarked:  
“So, things between you and Tyrion Lannister have reached such a pitch, you are exchanging love letters?”  
“Yes, Loras, I have no doubt this is a declaration of love! It is more likely some detail regarding the wedding.”  
“Have it as you wish, Margaery, but do not think I haven’t noticed how you find excuses to bring his name into conversation. Be careful, lest others realise.”  
She caught the worried intonation in his last sentence and smiled at him honestly and reassuringly.  
“Loras, there is absolutely nothing improper going on between myself and Tyrion Lannister.”  
“I know that, Marge,” her brother replied in a tone that indicated he was unsure whether this was something to be celebrated or lamented. Margaery knew how he felt.

When it came to Tyrion, the primary emotion she felt was frustration. Margaery had been attracted to men before; she had even had intimate relationships on several occasions. In addition, she had been married and was now betrothed. However, in all these interactions, she had felt firmly in control of her feelings. She knew when to approach things and when to hold back, and she had always felt that she knew when it was time for her to turn her eyes elsewhere. With Tyrion, this was not the case at all. She knew that pursuing any liaison or even overly friendly interaction with him was best avoided; she knew that she had already come very close to putting them both in a situation that could have led to ruin. She also knew that, try as she might, she could not stop him from entering her thoughts and could not quell the feelings she had for him. She opened the letter and read.   
“Marge?” Loras looked at her with concern, she turned a troubled face to him.  
“Sansa has found out about Jaime and Cersei. That is why she was absent from court today. She has been shut inside her bedchamber since last night. She is refusing to speak to Jaime or Tyrion, he asks that I go to her.”  
She looked at the last line. He had signed the note, _“Yours always, Tyrion Lannister,”_ and this pleased her more than she felt it should. _Gods, if I carry on like this, I shall find myself stitching golden lions into cloths to clutch to my bosom!_  
She chased the thought away. Sansa clearly needed her and must be her priority right now. She bid Loras farewell and exited their chambers. 

She arrived at Jaime and Sansa’s apartments to find both brothers sitting in the solar. Jaime had clearly had little or no sleep, but Margaery’s attention was almost immediately centered on Tyrion, and the wide grateful smile he gave her as she entered.   
“Lady Margaery, thank Gods you’re here! She will not let either of us near her, but she has said she is agreeable to seeing you.”  
“What happened?”  
Tyrion paused and glanced at his brother, but Jaime seemed nearly oblivious of their presence.   
“It seems Cersei paid them a call after having consumed rather too much Dornish Red. She was being her usual decorous self, and Sansa asked her to leave, there was something of an altercation and well…”  
Margaery nodded grimly before knocking on the bedroom door and entering.

She found her friend in disarray. Margaery had seen Sansa troubled before, but it had never impacted significantly on her outward appearance. It was a shock to see the redhead with her hair unbrushed, her face streaked with tears and wearing a crumpled nightgown. Margaery had an urge to embrace her, but felt it may be better to adopt a tentative approach at first.   
“Thank you for letting me enter, Sansa.”  
“Did you know?”   
The pained tone and the hurt-filled eyes that accompanied the question sent a wave of sympathy through Margaery. She looked directly back.  
“I guessed. I realised my brother knew because of things he told me, and when I thought about how he and Renly reacted to Robert’s death and Stannis’s proclamation.”   
Sansa gave a sharp nod.  
“I see. You knew, Tyrion knew – I was the only one who did not! What a stupid girl you must think me! I have no doubt everyone has enjoyed laughing at me behind my back!”  
“Sansa, no one has been laughing at you! I did not tell you, because I did not think it would do any good. I am sorry if you feel that was presumptuous of me, but you seemed to be finding happiness with Jaime. As for Tyrion – Jaime is his brother.”  
“Of course, I am the only one who is disloyal to her family! A traitor to my blood! I wish I could tear myself to pieces! Margaery, I truly thought he cared for me.”  
“Sansa, I think he does. As far as I can make out, his relationship with Cersei was over before he married you.”  
“That won't give my father his head back, nor did it stopped my brother being crippled.”  
“Your brother?”  
Sansa gave her a bitter smile.  
“Yes, when the Lannisters came to Winterfell, Bran… He saw Jaime and Cersei in a tower, and Jaime pushed him. He was ten years old, and he lost the use of his legs.”  
Sansa dissolved into tears, and now Margaery did come to embrace her, shocked by what she had heard. She thought of Loras, whom she would do anything to protect. Eventually, the younger girl murmured.  
“I have asked him to return me to my family.”  
“Is that really what you want? Remember, he offered you this choice the night before your wedding: there were reasons you did not take it.”  
“That was before I knew who my husband truly was.”  
Margaery looked at her friend, at a loss for what to say. The practical part of her mind wanted to implore Sansa to think about what life would be best for her. To not repeat the mistakes of her father and put honour above everything else. However, Margaery knew this was not the time for such challenges. She also knew there was something inherently cold and calculating about weighing things up in this manner. It made her feel somewhat uneasy about her own situation; betrothed to a man who seemed evil and clearly had no real claim to the throne…But she was here for Sansa – not to spend time thinking about herself.   
“Sansa, you are likely to have to attend court at least once before you leave. Cersei took great pains today to ensure that Joffrey noticed your absence – now I know the reason why.”   
Margaery felt a wave of hatred for the Queen Regent.  
“If I have to attend, I shall sing my little songs – it is all I am good for, anyway.”  
Margaery hugged her again, wishing she could do something to ease her friend’s desolation. She thought how happy Sansa had been since her marriage; she had no doubt Jaime’s feelings for his wife were real, and a small part of her had even been somewhat envious of the happy closeness the pair enjoyed… She tried to think of any way the situation could be improved.   
“I am sorry I cannot be of more help, Sansa, I truly am.”  
Sansa tried to smile.  
“You have been more help than you know. Just having someone to talk to… But I cannot face anyone else, I just cannot.”  
“I shall stay here as long as you have need of me.”  
“May we talk of other things Margaery, please, I would so love some distraction.”  
Margaery talked of Highgarden and her grandmother and growing up with Loras. Then she lay beside Sansa and stroked her hair until the girl fell asleep. Only when she was sure her friend was at rest did Margaery leave the chamber; Tyrion and Jaime stood immediately when she emerged. She looked Jaime in the eye:  
“You tried to kill a boy of ten?”  
“He would have spoken of what he saw! What could I do? What would have happened to Cersei? To our children?”  
“Have you tried to say this to Sansa?”  
“Sansa will not speak to me.”  
Margaery suddenly felt her worry and tiredness crystallise into exasperation.  
“You, Jaime Lannister! The Kingslayer, are afraid of your wife?! So afraid that you will let her go? Do you not think your sister knew what she was doing when she came here last night, and you are now playing straight into her hands? I will not betray any of Sansa’s confidences, but I can tell you that if you do nothing, you will have lost her as surely as if she was across the Narrow Sea.”  
Jaime seemed to flinch at her words, and she was once again convinced that his feelings for his wife ran very deep indeed. She continued in a softer tone:  
“She told me she had asked you to return her to her family. I certainly think you would be wise to remove her from King’s Landing as soon as possible: Cersei has been doing all she can to ensure that Joffrey notices her absence, and I am sure he will demand her company as soon as possible. I can tell from your face the thought angers you, Ser Jaime. I suggest you use that anger to fight for your wife: I have the impression no one has ever fought for her before, and she does not deem herself worthy of it.”  
She nodded and moved to the door, Tyrion at her side. She looked down at him.   
“Did you know about Bran Stark?”  
Tyrion returned her gaze, a worried expression on his face  
“Yes, and Jaime knew that I knew, although we never discussed it explicitly.”  
She patted his shoulder reassuringly.  
“I understand, I would have acted the same way in your place.”  
Tyrion still looked troubled. He appeared to hesitate then, as she moved closer to the door, said in a rush:   
“Later, I tried to help the boy. I accompanied Sansa’s half-brother to the Wall and he asked me to help Bran. I returned to Winterfell and gave them the designs for the saddle I use, so he could still ride horses without the use of his legs.”  
Margaery stared at him.   
“How can someone as good as you be part of such a family?”  
He looked pleased and abashed.   
“I do not know what I would be without Jaime.”  
Margaery leaned down towards him.  
“Then tell him to fight for his wife. She is deeply hurt, and it may be that she cannot bring herself to forgive him, but he needs to show her that he wants her to; he must make it clear how much he needs her before she can open herself to him. If he truly loves her, it should be worth risking the pain.”  
She turned and left then, not seeing that Tyrion’s gaze followed her until long after she had exited the corridor.


	18. Torment of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this is the most angsty chapter to date.

Sansa awoke to a damp pillow and a heavy heart. Her conversation with Margaery the night before had provided some small solace but had done little to ease her pain or assuage her guilt. She thought of the unappealing fates she had described to Jaime as awaiting her in the North, should she return to her family. Now, she was in no doubt that she deserved all those and worse. _Robb is right not to want to bring me back – I am a worthless, faithless girl._ There was a stinging satisfaction to be derived from envisaging what fate may befall her when she was returned to her family. Perhaps, the marriage would simply be annulled. Of course, everyone would know it was a farce; she would be unlikely to be seen as fit for any of the more prominent northern lords or heirs. Maybe Robb would marry to her to some old man, with children already grown. Or had she not heard that part of his agreement with Walder Frey included betrothing Arya to his grandson? They might take Sansa in her place? Perhaps, they would send her to the silent sisters to atone for her shame? Although joining a religious order would occasion more of a drop in status and result in a more dull and austere life, Sansa could not help but think there was something particularly awful about envisaging becoming another man’s wife. In truth, it did not matter: whatever fate befell her, she would never again lay eyes on Jaime Lannister. This thought should have strengthened her resolve, but she found it had the opposite effect. Imaging that she would never again wake up in his arms or look into his green eyes as they sparkled with laughter or shone with affection was a worse punishment than any she could imagine Robb inflicting upon her. This realisation filled her with fresh self-loathing, and she dug her nails fiercely into her fists. 

_He didn’t love you, stupid girl! He was forced to marry you, remember! He wanted to take you back home._ Sansa thought of Jaime bitterly.  
How could he hold her, kiss her, lay beside her each night, knowing all the time the part he had played in the ruin of her family? She told herself her father had been right about him all along – he truly was completely devoid of honour. She thought of how excited Bran had been at the prospect of meeting him, and this caused fresh tears to fall. She wondered if she would reach a point where she had none left to cry. 

There was a knock at the door; it could only be Jaime.  
“Sansa?”  
“Go away!”  
This had become her refrain over the past two days. She could not bear to see him, she was sure that if she did, she would end up exhibiting some strong emotion, whether by bursting into tears or attacking him again, and she felt she had already made herself far too vulnerable in his presence.  
“Sansa, I am going to speak with my father to obtain his permission for us to leave as soon as possible. You will not be left alone, Tyrion and Bronn will be in the solar until my return.”  
“My lord must ensure his wife is well guarded in her captivity.”  
She knew she was being outspoken, but even speaking to him without seeing his face rubbed salt into her wounds.  
“Sansa, you were never my captive.”  
The sheer desolation in his voice caused her heart to soften, but only for a moment. She remained silent and reflected that she had been his captive and a willing one at that. She thought about the afternoon they had spent with Tommen; about the strange conflicted look she had sometimes seen on his face. She could have pressed him on these matters – Margaery had managed to puzzle out the truth, why hadn’t she? In truth, she knew why. She had not wanted to. She had thought herself far removed from her childish flights of fancy, but it seemed she had not really changed that much. She had looked at Jaime and seen what she wished to see: a gallant knight, a kind man, a handsome husband. She had allowed herself to believe this was all there was to him, and that had been the real betrayal of her blood. Not the marriage – she had had no say in that – but she did not have to choose to care for him, although looking back, it did not feel as if this had been a conscious choice, either.

She had heard him leaving and the other two entering. After some time, there was another soft knock on her bedroom door. She heard Tyrion’s voice.  
“Sansa, I know that you do not wish to see me. I understand why that is the case, and I wanted to tell you I am truly sorry for the part I have played in causing the pain you now feel.”  
Sansa sighed. She was mostly angry at herself, and she was certainly angry at Jaime. In the first instance, she had tortured herself with the idea that everyone around her had been laughing at her blindness. Seeing Margaery last night had done something to dispel that thought. She was aware that she may be simply trying to find something to clutch in her desperate state, but she could not bring herself to believe that the few friends she had did not truly care for her. Furthermore, Tyrion’s contrite tone, and the steadfast kindness he had always shown towards her, reinforced her faith in the little Lannister.  
“I can forgive you, Tyrion. I understand that your loyalty was to your brother, and for that you should be commended.”  
“You know, Jaime is just as loyal to me. He severed all his ties with our sister when he returned to the capital to find she had tried to have me killed. They have barely exchanged a pleasant word since then.”  
Sansa hated herself for feeling pleased to have it confirmed that her husband had not been unfaithful to her. Consequently, there was a sharpness in her voice as she replied:  
“If you are trying to win me over on Jaime’s behalf, your efforts will be futile. And if he has asked you to do so, you may tell him he should not send his little brother to speak for him.”  
She knew she sounded petulant.  
Tyrion sighed audibly.  
“Sansa, you refuse to speak to him, or even to be in the same room as him.”  
How could she make Tyrion understand? She could not tell him that even keeping Jaime as far away from her person as possible, she was unable to expel him from her heart. Sansa felt wretched and cursed her weakness; she wished, more than anything, that she could look Jaime Lannister in the eye and tear him to pieces for what he had done. But she knew she could not, and so she must keep her distance.  
Before she could reply, she heard a door open, and her blood ran cold at the sound of Joffrey’s voice:  
“Well-well, it would seem Sansa is available to any Lannister who sees fit to pay a call. Stand aside uncle, as your king, I take precedence.”  
“Joffrey, your Aunt is indisposed.”  
Sansa could hear the dangerous note in Tyrion’s voice even if Joffrey had missed it.  
“Do not presume to address me as Joffrey, Imp! I am The King!..”  
“What in Seven Hells is happening here?!”  
As Sansa recognised her husband’s voice, she thought of the great rage within him that Cersei had spoken of when she met with Sansa prior to the wedding. Listening to him now, it did not seem so implausible. Despite everything, she could not help the vicious delight which bubbled up within her at hearing Joffrey squirm.  
“Uncle Jaime! I told my guard no one was to be let in.”  
“And you really think that excuse for a man could keep me out? The Kingsguard is far from what it was in my day, nephew. Now, would you care to enlighten me as to why I find you in my chambers uninvited?”  
“Your wife has been missed at court. I was coming to summon her into the royal presence.”  
“You damn little worm! Do not dare to ever come near my wife again!”  
This was accompanied by the sound of a sword being unsheathed and the sound of Joffrey crying out. Jaime continued in a much lighter tone, but one which still held unmistakable menace:  
“If I ever find you within ten feet of Sansa again, this blade will taste you blood.”

It did nothing to alter her situation, but it did bring Sansa a feeling of satisfaction that her father’s weapon had been turned on the one who had taken it from him.  
“He has threatened his King! Arrest him!”  
Tyrion cut in, using a tone almost identical to that of his brother:  
“Who are you talking to, nephew? Your stooge fled long ago. I certainly did not see my brother draw his sword against you and neither did Bronn. I suggest you run along now before you piss yourself. That would not be very kingly, would it?”  
“You will pay for this Jaime Lannister! Do not forget how I brought you low the last time you threatened me!”  
Joffrey’s voice was high pitched and hysterical. As soon as he finished speaking, Sansa heard the door rapidly shut and she presumed he had been edging out even as he screeched his last words. After indicating to Jaime he would relay the incident to their father before the king had the chance, Tyrion also left, no doubt accompanied by Bronn. She heard footsteps approach the door.  
“Sansa, I am coming in.”  
She willed herself to look at him without crying, forced herself to meet his eyes. He looked awful. He was clearly exhausted, but, more than that, there was a harried look in his eyes. Taking in the sight of him made her conscious of her own appearance for the first time in days. She was unsure how she felt: she certainly derived no pleasure in seeing his pain, but she could not bring herself to empathise either. It was impossible for her to dwell on anything related to Jaime’s state of mind without her own turmoil crowding it out. She was also aware that the softening of her heart was accompanied by a feeling of guilt at her inability to despise him. Jaime spoke:  
“Were you in here the whole time I was gone?”  
“Have no fear. Your son did not lay hands on me.”  
He looked down briefly, and she knew the words had hit their mark.  
“He is no son of mine.”  
“And yet, he is of your seed.”  
Jaime looked at her with wounded eyes:  
“That and nothing more, and, I assure you, I will regret the fact that I begat him until my dying day. Sansa, if I could take any of the hurt and pain you have been caused and bear it myself, I would do so and gladly.”  
“Jaime, don’t! I do not want to hear pretty words.”  
She struggled to retain her self-control; he moved towards her, and she swiftly moved away.  
“What did your father say?”  
“We leave within the week. It seems Margaery has come to your aid once more. The Tyrells have approached him and told him they feel your presence at the wedding would be unseemly.”  
Sansa thought warmly of her clever friend. She remembered Margaery’s words to her the night before about the choice she had made when she had married Jaime; for an instant, she could not help wishing everything could go back to how it had been before Cersei had visited them that evening. Jaime spoke again:  
“We shall travel back to the Westerlands with the bulk of the Lannister army. They are not needed here, and the bannermen are anxious to see to their estates. Once we are on the border, it will be an easy matter for us to separate with a small retinue and intercept your family. It seems your brother is also heading west.”  
_Why is he heading west, when he knows I am here? Because I’m a traitorous wretch not worth risking the war over!_  
“Thank you, my lord husband. I am grateful that you have chosen to uphold your vow to my mother and myself.”  
Sansa experienced a brief flash of spiteful satisfaction when she saw the fresh hurt this display of cold formality had caused him. She sensed that he wanted to say more to her, to get close to her, and she could not let that happen. She would not break down in front of him again, he already had possession of too much of her heart. “If my lord husband would be so kind as to call my handmaiden, I will begin to prepare for our journey.”  
She heard him depart. However much Sansa told herself that Cersei’s revelations proved beyond doubt that Jaime was devoid of any honour or goodness, she had no doubt he would fulfil his promise and return her to her mother. _I will be reunited with my family._ She wondered why, after wanting nothing else for so long, the thought only brought her misery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I'm sorry!
> 
> Thanks to all those who have left kudos, bookmarked or commented


	19. Foreboding and Realisation

Tyrion walked swiftly towards the Tower of the Hand, Oberyn Martell’s words ringing in his ears. He had been designated to meet the Lords of Dorne, who were attending the royal wedding and had been under the impression it would be Doran Martell whom he would be greeting. Contrary to this belief, he found the Prince of Dorne had sent his impetuous younger brother in his stead and that the man was already in the Capital. Tyrion had tracked him down to a brothel, and they’d had a none too pleasant conversation regarding the fate of Elia Martell and her children.   
_Tell your father that the Lannisters aren’t the only ones who pay their debts._  
Tyrion was sickened to think of the needless brutality of Gregor Clegane; his father had known precisely what to expect and, once again, Tyrion was staggered by the ends Tywin would go to in order to preserve his power. Moreover, the confrontation with Oberyn Martell had filled him with self-reproach. _I sent Myrcella to Dorne. She is little better than their hostage._

As he approached his father’s solar, Tyrion saw that the door was slightly ajar, and he heard his father’s commanding voice ring out, although he was not yet close enough to make out the words. As he drew closer, he recognised Varys’ voice, and his curiosity was piqued.  
“Your daughter does not appear to have engaged in any further dalliances since you’ve returned to the capital, my lord Hand.”  
“Are there any activities I should be aware of?”  
“ She has sent several more ravens than usual recently. Of course, those could be for Princess Myrcella – Queen Cersei has guarded them very jealously and delivered them straight to Grand Maester Pycelle herself so I am afraid my little birds have not been able to determine who the recipient is.”  
“Very well, that will be all, Lord Varys.”  
Aware that this was the end of their discussion, Tyrion hastened to enter the room, so it would not appear as if he had been loitering outside. 

He nodded to Varys, who returned the gesture and exited, closing the door behind him. Tywin did not glance up, but Tyrion began to speak anyway.  
“Prince Doran has not come to the capital for the wedding. He has sent his younger brother. I found him in a brothel, stabbing Lannisters and declaring his intention to avenge his sister and her children.”  
“You found him in a brothel? Have you really nothing better to be doing with your time?”  
Facing his father’s usual impassiveness when he himself was feeling decidedly agitated provoked Tyrion more than it usually did.  
“That is all you can say? The Martells despise us for what Gregor Clegane did – on your orders! We are still dealing with the consequences of Joffrey’s decision to relieve Ned Stark of his head! We cannot afford to fight another war.”  
“Robb Stark is as good as defeated.”   
Of course, Tyrion would have expected his father to say nothing else, but there was something final in Tywin’s tone that made him feel somewhat uneasy: as if he had failed to grasp some key aspect of the current situation. His father looked up at him, and his eyes were hard.  
“You are Master of Coin and therefore responsible for the royal treasury. If you think we have insufficient funds, you need to act to address that situation – not come running to me with idle chatter.”  
Tyrion shook his head in disbelief. He remembered the look in Prince Oberyn’s eyes: the Dornish man’s words had been anything but idle.   
Tywin stood.   
“Come, it is almost time for your brother to depart.”  
He strode out of the room, as usual making no allowance for Tyrion’s shorter legs. As he followed his father, Tyrion thought about the exchange he had overheard. So it seemed Tywin was spying on his daughter, in which case it was very likely Tyrion’s activities were also being observed. _Unfortunately for both of us, my life is blameless to the point of boredom these days._   
He had not lain with a woman since Shae had left. Until that morning he had not set foot in a brothel since the day Sansa and Jaime had danced to Margaery’s tune. He felt that, somehow, he had lost the taste for whoring. When Shae had been here, he had enjoyed the familiarity of their intimacy. He had grown used to her shape in his embrace, her words in his ear. Aside from the physical act of lovemaking, they had talked and spent time together. Returning to anonymous intercourse with women who were strangers did not seem enticing. He smirked to himself. _Now you want love, dwarf? Perhaps, there is time yet to forge my chain or take the black._ He thought about what the Spider had said of Cersei sending ravens; he wondered what his sister was plotting now. He had no doubt there was nothing innocent about her actions. With Pycelle firmly in his pocket, it would be an easy matter for Tywin to ascertain what she had been up to, but he was unlikely to share this information with Tyrion. Could she have been contacting someone at Casterly Rock, attempting to make further trouble for Sansa and Jaime? Tyrion dismissed the possibility. His father held his seat of power in the iron grip that would be expected of Tywin Lannister; Cersei would know perfectly well that any attempt to jeopardise things there would be laid before her father immediately. Tyrion’s sister had not been near the place for years and had no alliances amongst the household. It may be that the ravens did relate to Dorne and Myrcella, but Tyrion fervently hoped they did not. If his conversation with Oberyn earlier had been anything to go by, the Martells already had plenty of reasons to view the Lannisters as enemies, and any attempts by Cersei to remove her daughter from Sunspear could shatter the already fragile peace. 

Approaching the outer keep, Tyrion’s mind again turned to the ease with which Tywin had agreed to Jaime and Sansa’s departure. While it was true Jaime had made no further mention of returning Sansa to the Starks following their wedding, when, during their betrothal he had enquired about taking his bride to Casterly Rock, Tywin had made it clear they would be expected to remain in the capital until after Joffrey’s wedding. Privately, Tyrion had expected Tywin would not let the pair out of his sight until Sansa was far into a pregnancy and Robb Stark was cold in the ground. The sense of unease he had felt in his father’s solar grew.

He reached the courtyard and found a small group gathered to see the pair off. Cersei had not deigned to attend, but Joffrey was there with Margaery by his side. Sansa and Jaime arrived, and Tyrion could see the strain written on both their faces. He remebered how happy they had been only a week ago, and his heart ached for the couple. 

He had talked at length with his brother the night before. Jaime seemed more desolate than when he had found out the truth about Cersei, and that alone spoke volumes to Tyrion. He had tried to advise him to do as Margaery had recommended, but he was not sure how much of what he said had been heard: Jaime had been through so much in the past few years and now the small semblance of peace and happiness he had found appeared to be slipping from his grasp. For the thousandth time in his life, Tyrion cursed his sister and the blight she had placed upon Jaime’s existence. Now he bid them both a brief farewell and watched as Margaery embraced Sansa. Joffrey gave a proper, formal goodbye, but Tyrion noted the self satisfied smirk on his vile nephew’s face and wondered what the little worm was thinking. As the couple mounted their horses and departed, he felt a pang of sadness; he would miss both of them very much.   
Once the pair where out of earshot, Joffrey turned to his accompanying Kingsguard;   
“I shall miss my Aunt, and I have no doubt she will miss me. I ensured, of course, that she would have some pleasant memories to dwell on, perhaps when she is abed.”   
He laughed uproariously, the knight joining in, while Margaery remained silent, although her eyes narrowed. Tywin gave no indication of having heard his grandson’s remark, but he strode over to Joffrey and summoned him away. Clearly deciding that making crude remarks about Sansa once her husband was too far away to hear them was sufficient bravery for one day, Joffrey followed Tywin, leaving Tyrion alone with Margaery. With a less dazzling smile than usual, she asked him if he would accompany her back to her chambers, and the two fell into step.  
“I am sure that their departure is the best thing, but I shall miss Sansa greatly.”   
Margaery sighed, then she turned her head to him and continued in a voice with a slight edge.  
“I hope that you can now believe I consider her a friend.”  
Tyrion was somewhat dismayed that she appeared to have taken a remark he had made early in their acquaintance so to heart.  
“Of course, I can, my lady. At the time I questioned your intentions, I did not know you – now, it is clear to me that you are a kind and genuine woman.”   
_Gods, where did that come from?_   
“Thank you, Lord Tyrion, I would not wish you to think ill of me.”  
Tyrion could almost have laughed at the absurdness of this statement, had there not been a vulnerability about her he would never have conceived possible.  
“Lady Margaery, I assure you, I do not and could never imagine thinking ill of you. I admire you greatly.”  
The smile she gave him then seemed to have regained some of its brightness, but her face became serious as she asked:   
“If Sansa does decide to stay with Jaime at Casterly Rock and they make their home there, do you think you may join them?”  
“I do not know. Jaime has my uncle Kevan there to deputise for him as necessary, although there’s always the chance that my father will decide I am such an awful Master of Coin that it is not worth keeping me here.”  
“I truly hope that does not occur; there are some here who have great need of you Tyrion.”  
It was not just her words, but also the tone in which she said them, which made him look up at her. As he gazed upon her beautiful face, he wished more than anything that he was a strong, impetuous knight who could carry her away. _If she asked me to leave with her, I would go right now._ The thought flashed through his mind, and he knew he meant it. How could he be so sure when he had refused to leave with Shae?

They had reached the door to Margaery’s chambers. He took one of her hands firmly in both of his, met her eyes, and raised it to his lips.   
“I am always at your service, lady Margaery.”   
He left her then and attempted to return to his duties, but it was no good. His mind kept running back to their conversation. He thought of how Shae had told him she wasn’t his damn doll. He thought of Tysha, the wife he barely knew, an uncomfortable realisation began to dawn on him. In both cases, his feelings had been less about anything related to the women themselves and more about his deep desire to be loved. He had spent so much of his time with Shae, trying to convince himself that she really cared that he had spent little time wondering what the depth of his own feelings was. This could not be said to be the case with Margaery. Although it was undeniable that the pair had shared several charged moments, Tyrion was in no doubt that she could never come to love him. This knowledge had no impact on the way he felt. Furthermore, he could imagine very clearly living the life he lived now, but it being immeasurably better with her by his side. Here was a woman who could help him puzzle out intrigues and curtail his sweet sister as well as cry out his name while he fucked her senseless. Tyrion ran his hands over his face, he almost wanted to cry out in frustration. He was worried for his brother and Sansa, worried for Myrcella; further war seemed an increasing possibility, and the king was more unstable than ever. He really had enough to worry about without having managed to fall deeply in love with Margaery Tyrell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who have bookmarked, left kudos or commented : )


	20. Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Man

Jaime made his way around the camp. His father’s army was as disciplined as one would expect, and the Western bannermen acting as lieutenants were competent and experienced. There was absolutely no need for him to inspect the preparations being made for the night; he simply wished to delay entering his own tent for as long as possible. 

They had been on the road for two days now. For two days, he had faced Sansa’s silent reproach, the icy wall she maintained between them showing him more eloquently than a thousand blows or insults the depth of the betrayal and pain she felt. He walked toward their tent, steeling himself for the night ahead; although they shared a bed here, she always ensured she had her back to him and was as far away from his body as possible. He missed her lying in his embrace like the loss of a limb. 

When he entered, Sansa looked up but was silent. He was thankful that she appeared to have decided to keep her courtesies to a minimum, rather than using them to wound him as often as she could. He began to talk to her of the progress of their journey, simply to break the silence, when his attention was caught by someone at the entrance to the tent. He called the young man in and noticed he was clasping a sealed parchment.  
“Ser Jaime, I have ridden hard from King’s Landing this morning. I bring Lady Lannister a personal message from King Joffrey.”   
His wife had already paled at the use of her title; when she took the missive from the youth, her hands were shaking. Jaime, too, could feel dread rise within him. _Let it be nothing, please let it be Margaery using Joff’s courier to send some inconsequential word._ He was aware his thought sounded akin to a prayer, and that this was ridiculous; as if the Gods would listen to the likes of him.  
Sansa gasped, and he looked over to see her face contorted with pain. She let out a scream, “No! No! No!” and then, with tears streaming down her face, she dropped to her knees, the letter falling from her grasp. Jaime approached her and picked it up, his stomach dropping as he read its contents. It seemed Walder Frey had not taken kindly to Robb Stark reneging on his promise to wed his granddaughter. Joffrey’s letter recounted in gleeful, gruesome detail the fates which had befallen Robb, Catelyn, and Talisa Stark at the Twins. Jaime turned to the messenger.  
“You say you have come from King’s Landing today. Is it true that Robb Stark is dead?”  
“Aye, ser, him, his wife, and his mother. They’re already calling it ‘the Red Wedding.’”  
“That’s enough! Get out of my sight.”  
“Beg pardon ser, I was told to wait for a response.”  
“You may tell the king he will know when he receives one.”  
Jaime stared at his stricken wife. Hadn’t she suffered enough? It seemed the Gods were intent on breaking Sansa Stark. _No, not the Gods – the Lannisters._ Jaime strongly suspected the hand of his father had guided all this; it appeared disproportionate revenge for a slight. He thought about the unease Tyrion had voiced to him about how amenable Tywin had been to letting them leave King’s Landing; of course, his sire had known there was no chance of them meeting with the Starks or even of the Young Wolf attempting an ambush to retrieve his sister. An image, from decades ago, of two little bodies wrapped in crimson cloth came unbidden to his mind. In that moment, for the first time in his life, Jaime hated his father.   
Sansa let forth a keening wail, and he could bear it no longer. He went to her, knelt before her and grabbed her hands.  
“Sansa, I will turn this army around right now. We will march onto the Twins and the Dreadfort and raise them to the ground. I will give you Walder Frey’s head, if you wish it.”  
“This is your father’s army.”  
“Fuck my father. Fuck anyone who isn’t us. Sansa, I swear, I will destroy any who have caused you pain. I know that I have a debt to you, which I can never repay, but I will spend my life trying to do so.”  
His wife’s eyes stayed locked on his for most of his speech, and when he had said the last words, he thought he saw a flash of something which reminded him of how they had been before. When she spoke, her voice was devoid of the cold tone he had been subjected to since that dreadful night.  
“You would truly go to war if I asked it, wouldn’t you?”  
Jaime could only nod. _He would._ Sansa dissolved into a fresh flood of tears.  
“Why?! Why would you? I am a worthless, faithless fool! Even my own brother did not want me back! None of this would have happened to him if he had just married the Frey girl, like he was supposed to. I was eaten up with guilt when I was betrothed to you – Robb was free! He had a choice!”   
She broke down completely at this, and Jaime took her in his arms, thankful beyond measure when she did not push him away. After a moment, she whispered.   
“There were times when I felt I hated him. When Joffrey beat me for his victories, when you told me mother defied him to release you. But, Jaime, he was my brother, I thought I hated him, but I always loved him, too, and now… He’s dead.”  
“Sansa, your family did not deserve to die in this way. The Freys and the Boltons will pay.”  
“Do you think… Anyone else was involved?’  
Jaime looked into her eyes, and he knew without doubt that if he had any chance of ever calling her his again, there could be no more lies between them. He nodded.  
“I am sure my father was at the least aware of the plot, and it would not surprise me if his involvement goes beyond that. But, Sansa, I swear, he shared none of it with me.”  
“I believe you, Jaime.”  
If those words felt like sunlight to him after a long, dark night, the next showed them to be a false dawn. Sansa spoke with bitterness:  
“Well, it seems you are no longer under the obligation of your vow, my lord. For now, there is truly nowhere to return me which could be called home.”  
Jaime paused. He was acutely aware that his next words could be some of most significant he had ever uttered. He cast his mind back to Margaery’s accusation that he was afraid of his wife, how Tyrion had entreated him to fight for her by showing all of his self. He thought about hiding things from her – omissions were meant to protect her, and they had failed to do so. He had been honest in his declaration of his willingness to wage war immediately, but he knew now that would not help. He took a breath and spoke.  
“Sansa, Casterly Rock is a large keep. When we arrive there, it will be a small matter to arrange for you to have your own apartments and live in complete separation from myself. Sansa, I will not lie to you: loosing you would be like death to me, but in the face of all I have done, I feel I have no other choice, but to place myself in your hands. We shall continue our journey, and I will explain myself to you, you may consider me an open book: no omissions no lies. After you have heard all you wish to, it will be for you to decide if we remain together or become estranged. Also know that, whatever you decide, you need only give me leave, and I will wreck vengeance on any you see fit.” It had cost him more to say this than anything he had ever said in his life; verbalising the idea that she would remove herself from him forever cut him deep. Sansa was looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time in over a week. The words that came out of her mouth were the last ones he had expected to hear.  
“Very well, my lord husband. You may start by telling me of your mother.” 

Jaime looked at her, surprise written on his face.  
“My mother?”  
“Yes, my lord husband. I have just lost mine, and I wish to hear of yours.”   
She was aware of the sharpness in her tone and glad she had been able to muster it. Clinging to him as she cried for the loss of the last of her family had reminded her of how comforting and right it had felt to have him beside her; she could almost have slipped back into the pattern they had established in the first days of their marriage. But that had been an enticing illusion, perhaps it had been the sweeter for not being real. They had both wilfully ignored reality, and any relationship they had going forward would need to be built on foundations far stronger.

Jaime sighed.   
“My mother died when I was four years old. I do not know if what I can tell you of her even counts as memories. She was warm and loving – I know that. I remember how it felt to be embraced by her, and I remember her reading to Cersei and me often. She smelt of cinnamon, I remember that. She was great friends with the princess of Dorne in her youth, and I think she wore Dornish perfumes because of that.”   
He seemed to become aware they were both seated on the floor and, without a word, stood and offered her his hand. She gave it without demurral, and he helped her to her feet before they moved to a cushioned bench. He spoke again once they were seated, looking straight ahead of him, clearly seeing the memories in his mind’s eye.   
“You know, the first time I ever remember disagreeing with Cersei was when my mother told us she was carrying Tyrion. Before that, it always seemed we were of one mind. I do not know if she pretended to like what I liked, or if I pretended to like what she liked; everyone seemed to see us as a pair, and it was only natural we did, too.”  
Sansa bit back a harsh comment on this. Although it hurt to hear him speak of Cersei, she sensed there was more for him to tell and, despite all that had happened, she trusted that he would not cause her needless pain. Jaime gave a joyless smile.  
“My mother told us she was to have another baby, and I was delighted. I wanted a brother. You know what young boys are, I thought he could spar with me, that when we were grown, we would be two knights of Lannister together. Cersei raged and sulked at the news and would not speak to mother for an hour. She could not understand why our parents would have another child when they already had us… The day my mother died, the one thing I remember clearest is Cersei hitting me across the chest, telling me it was my fault for wanting a brother so badly. Of course, soon she forgave me and decided Tyrion was the one to blame.”   
Sansa gazed at him, wondering how he had ever come to love someone so twisted. Then, as she took in the anguish evident in his face, she felt her heart almost break for him – both the small boy he had been and the man he was now – and she placed a hand on his shoulder.  
“Jaime, I am so sorry, I cannot imagine how it must have been to lose your mother so young and so suddenly.”  
He met her gaze, and his eyes held a look of wonder.  
“Sansa, it should be me consoling you.”  
The words brought her brutally back to her own situation. Her father and younger brothers were gone, now Robb and her mother were also dead. Brienne of Tarth had been looking for Arya for months now and had sent no word. The shock and grief overcame her, and, once again, she felt tears fall. Jaime’s strong arms encircled her, and she allowed him to cradle her as she cried to the point of exhaustion. When she stilled, she felt him lift her and carry her towards their bed. He gently laid her down and straightened as if to move away. She touched his arm, and he immediately froze.   
“Jaime, please will you hold me tonight?”  
“Of course, I will – I will do whatever you ask me to.”  
“Thank you, Jaime. It does not mean I will ask you stay with me every night.”  
“I know that, Sansa.”  
She was aware that the hopeful inflection in his voice belied his words, but she was too numb from grief to give this much thought.

Sansa was glad of him later when she awoke from a vivid nightmare. He gently murmured her name and stroked her hair while her breathing returned to normal. He did not have to ask her what she had dreamt of.  
“I saw them all as if I were there. Jaime, what must my mother and Robb have thought of me in their last minutes! Everything that’s happened is my fault.”  
“Sansa! You do not honestly believe that, do you?”   
She looked at him and swallowed. While her words had been exaggerated by her troubled state, she was often wracked with guilt for believing in Joffrey for as long as she had. Jaime’s eyes were full of compassion.  
“The people who have hurt your family would have done so regardless of your actions. I know you have said you believe yourself to be foolish, but I have seen no evidence of that. You are kind, honourable, and sometimes you have been too loyal for too long.”  
“Like you with Cersei?”   
The question was out quickly, before she could lose her nerve.   
“I told you earlier that people had always seen us as a pair. We were the golden Lannister twins, Tywin’s great hope for his legacy. I think if you are told that from an early age, you will view yourself as somewhat separate from others – I certainly did. She always seemed to want me so much, and it felt so good to be wanted. I thought it was love, now it seems more like control. Cersei wanted me to be a certain way, to be a certain thing, and I almost always was. But even then, it was not enough.”  
His words resonated deeply with her. For so long Sansa had berated herself for being meek and defenceless and unlike Arya. But as she listened to her husband, she could not help but think how, throughout her entire childhood, it had been reinforced to her again and again that the way she was behaving was the right, even the only, way for a girl of her station to behave. It was not the same as the poisonous control Jaime spoke of his sister exerting, but she could certainly relate to having shaped her life around the expectations of others and then facing dire consequences.   
“Jaime, I think I am beginning to understand.”  
If he had looked at her in wonder before, now he seemed incredulous. She spoke again.  
“Is that why you joined the Kingsguard? Because of Cersei?”   
She could not help but think that, had the two of them not engaged in a lifelong illicit affair, it would have seemed a painfully romantic story of love denied. _Which again shows how foolish I was to set such store in stories._  
Jaime’s lips curved into a smirk, but his eyes remained serious.  
“It was her idea. She thought at the time she would marry Rhaegar and remain in King’s Landing. Of course that never came about and when I was called to the Kingsguard, father was so enraged with Aerys that he returned to the Rock as soon as he could; taking Cersei with him. As a young boy, I dreamed of being a great knight, and that life seemed far better than being a lord of a great keep. I wanted to protect the weak and uphold noble virtues and defend honour and chivalry. Being forced to guard a madman as he brutalised his own wife, I soon came to realise that such ideals are seldom found beyond the pages of children’s storybooks.”  
She almost said nothing. For so long, walls and distance had been how she survived, but she knew he had given her much that night, and she could not give nothing in return:  
“Hearing you say that reminds me of how I felt when I thought I would be queen. I imagined it would be like in stories and songs: that I would live a life filled with love and beauty… It sounds ridiculous now.”  
“Sansa, it does not.”   
He grabbed her hand and gave her one of those intense looks that always made her feel like she was drowning in his eyes.  
“You wanted to be loved, and you wanted to love in return. I do not think it sounds ridiculous to want a life filled with love.”  
 _Because it is what you want, too._  
As the thought flashed through her mind a part of her longed to give into him. But everything was still too raw, and spectres of Bran and of Joffrey were still too present. She gave him a small smile.  
“I think it would be best if we tried to sleep, Jaime. We have much to talk of in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all those who have bookmarked, left kudos or commented!


	21. Rebellious Rose

“Which do you think, Margaery? The green or the gold?”  
“I am not sure, cousin, do you have a preference yourself?”   
Margaery sighed inwardly. Her female cousins had come to her chambers today in order to determine which dresses they would wear to her wedding. In truth, Margaery could not care less. As the day drew nearer, there seemed to be more and more intricate preparations to be made and more elaborate details to be added. Margaery wondered how Cersei Lannister had managed to be queen for almost two decades and remain so out of touch with the people she ruled and their situation. Margaery was no pious maid: the charity work she carried out was as much about enhancing her own reputation and status as it was about helping the poor, but she was not without compassion. Faced with the reality of the lives of the King’s Landing poor, and contrasting this with the opulence being lavished on one day, made her wonder how the crown had escaped a successful insurrection. She had certainly not planned for an austere wedding, but this was too far in the other direction. 

“Margaery! Are you not listening? Perhaps, crimson and gold would be best – then our gowns would match your wedding cloak.”  
Margaery had been incredulous when she had heard she was to be cloaked in Lannister colours. Of course, Tywin and Joffrey remained wilfully oblivious of Joff’s true parentage, but when she thought of how her mind had been occupied with countering the rumours of his illegitimacy when she had first arrived in King’s Landing… She rose, and made for the door, turning to her surprised cousins:   
“I suggest you clothe yourselves in the colours of house Baratheon. After all, I am marrying a Baratheon King.”

She stood, unsure of where she was going, but very sure she needed to leave. She did not know why her cousins had provoked such strong irritation in her; they were simply young, excitable girls and had not been behaving any differently from usually. It must have been this wedding and everything to do with it! She thought she might go to the gardens and walk until her head felt clear, but, at that moment, a servant opened the door and announced the arrival of the Queen. Cersei strode in, surveying the room with a superior look on her face. As she took in Margaery, a triumphant gleam appeared in her eyes, which told the younger woman she must be on her guard.  
“Margaery, my dear, are you well? You looked flushed. I hope you have not caught a fever.”  
“I thank you for your friendly concern Queen Cersei. You yourself look radiant”  
“Radiant? Why radiant?”  
“It is a word that came to mind.”

Margaery moved towards the older woman and took her arm, ignoring the way Cersei tensed. She beamed at the queen.  
“We’re going to be sisters soon, we should be friends.”  
Cersei sneered at her, and Margeary knew she should stop herself here, but, somehow, she could not. She felt as if there was a small, smouldering fire of rebellion beginning to spark inside her, and she did not feel like being careful at all. She smiled broadly.  
“My cousins are here to decide on what clothes they shall wear for the royal wedding. Have you an outfit in mind? Perhaps, you are considering something green and gold yourself, since you shall be a Tyrell before long. And, Gods be good, a grandmother soon after.”  
Cersei was now looking at her with undisguised rage; she moved forward and, in a voice that no one else could hear, snarled:  
“Hold your tongue, you stupid little whore, or I will see it ripped out! Do you really think I will let them ship me off to Highgarden? Be assured there are no lengths I will not go to avoid marriage to your brother. As for you, call me sister again, and I shall have you strangled in your sleep.”  
Then, as if nothing had happened, Cersei moved away from her and helped herself to a glass of wine. Margaery glanced at her cousins and hoped none of them could see her shaking. In as light a voice as she could muster, she said:  
“Do you know, I do feel slightly hot. I think it would be best if I took some air; I bid you all good day.”

She left and walked towards the gardens; she needed to clear her head. The look in Cersei’s eyes as she had spoken to her had reminded Margaery all too well of Joffrey. _Gods, why did Renly have to die?_ She tried to think it for a minute, tried to tell herself that she simply regretted how difficult and dangerous her new spouse would be, but she could not. Even imagining herself by Renly’s side as he claimed the iron throne, she could not suppress a pang of regret. 

From the other side of a tall hedge, she heard an eager exclamation:  
“Could you see the whole world, uncle?!”  
There was a low rumble of laughter which caused her stomach to flip.  
“I am afraid not, Tommen, if you remember, it was often very cloudy in the North: the top of the Wall was far above the clouds, so, really, you could not see much – at least, of what was to the south.”

Margaery knew she should walk away, but the reckless feeling which had pervaded her since she had risen from her seat in her chambers compelled her to stay. She rounded the hedge and came face to face with Tommen Baratheon and Tyrion Lannister. Tommen beamed at her happily; she wondered how such a sweet boy survived here and how long it would be before he was either embittered or destroyed. She noticed her was cradling a cat in his lap.  
“Lady Margaery! Uncle Tyrion has helped me find Ser Pounce, and now he has been telling me all about the Wall. You know, it’s one of Lomas Longstryders nine man-made wonders? Have you ever seen the Hightower, Lady Margaery? Since you are from the Reach, I mean.”  
“Indeed, I have, Prince Tommen. In fact, my mother was a Hightower before she married my father. It is a very imposing sight.”  
Tyrion spoke:  
“I have no doubt that it is, Lady Margaery. I myself have not had occasion to visit Oldtown, although when I was younger, I did harbour a notion to become a Maester… Well, Grand Maester if I am being honest – I am a Lannister, after all.”  
As she smiled at his jape she could not help her mind wandering. The idea of being Queen attended personally by Tyrion as Grand Maester presented several intriguing possibilities…  
She managed to drag herself back to reality as Tommen spoke again.   
“So, of the nine wonders, you have only seen the Wall, uncle. If you could see one more, which would it be?”  
“The Titan of Braavos,” Tyrion answered immediately, and his face acquired a wistful expression, which, she could not help think, made him look somewhat boyish and very appealing. Tommen turned a worried face to her.“Lady Margaery, you won’t tell Joffrey Ser Pounce has been running off, will you? He always says it’s pathetic and childish to keep pet cats.”  
Margaery patted his shoulder.   
“I shall not breathe a word, my prince. What’s more, my own brother has always loved cats and had a pet tabby when he was around your age. He used to catch small fish in the Mander to feed to it. He rescued it from the kitchens of Highgarden when it emerged it was unable to catch mice.”   
Tommen looked entranced.   
“Ser Loras had a pet cat? Truly?”  
“Truly, you can ask him about it yourself the next time you see him.”  
She was aware that Tyrion had kept his eyes on her throughout her discussion with Tommen, and she smiled at him now. He briefly reciprocated and rose to his feet.   
“I think, since Ser Pounce has been found, we should return him to the safety of his basket.”   
Tommen nodded and hurried ahead of them, clutching the cat to his person.  
“He seems very protective of the creature.”  
“Yes, Joffrey killed his previous cat.”  
Tyrion said the words rapidly, without looking at her. Margaery was horrified, and before she could stop herself the words were out.  
“Joffrey truly is his mother’s son.”  
Tyrion looked at her, concern plain on his face.  
“My lady, forgive me, but is something troubling you? I cannot help but notice that you seem somewhat overwrought.’  
Margaery breathed a laugh.  
“I suppose you could say something is troubling me, though it is many things, really. Tell me, Tyrion, do you think your sister is capable of ending my brother’s life?”  
If Margery had been hoping for reassurance, she was to be disappointed. Tyrion’s expression was grave.  
“More than capable – do you have reason to suspect she is going to?”  
Margaery gave another shaky laugh.  
“Other than the fact all know she protested loudly at the match and sees it as a destruction of her power as Queen Regent and her influence over her sons? Yes, she more or less just told me she was planning to get rid of him.”  
Tyrion’s expression showed that his mind was working.  
“I happen to know she has been communicating with someone in secret of late; I wonder if it could be in relation to this. Lady Margaery, are all in Highgarden loyal to your family?”  
Margaery smiled crookedly.  
“In Highgarden – yes, but the Reach as a whole is a different matter. There are those who feel House Tyrell does not have the strongest claim and have looked for ways to overthrow us.”  
“I have no doubt, shrewd as your grandmother is, that she would have ways of checking on these families, if she needed to.”  
“Your certainty is not misplaced, although it would be useful to know more specifically whom we are talking about.”  
“I shall see what I can do, my lady.”

This time Margaery gave him a genuine smile. The one he gave in return seemed to light up his whole face, and she wondered for a second why it was not obvious to everyone how handsome he was. Their gazes locked for a second, then he looked away and laughed.  
“Have no fear, my lady: I can assure you it is not in my father’s plan that Cersei should dispose of your brother and deprive him of his chance to have a grandchild as heir to Highgarden. And if that is not reassuring enough, I can tell you she attempted my life – and father fully approved – yet I am still here.”  
“Gods, Tyrion! Why do they hate you so?”   
She was often irritated by the way Tyrion was treated by most members of his family, for no good reason she could determine. She had spoken strongly, because that feeling of recklessness was growing within her the longer she spent in his presence. He looked up at her, his eyes large and round as they had been when she almost kissed him.   
“I am sure they have their reasons – it seems, I am an easy man to hate. Still, I thank you for your pity.”

This was the spark that set alight the smouldering fire within her, burning her caution and care. She had enough presence of mind to look about her: Tommen had left them far behind. She turned to Tyrion, her heart hammering.  
“Where is Bronn, is he close by?”  
“I have no idea! I imagine not.”  
“Good, I do not want to be interrupted this time.”  
With that, she leant down, took his face in both hands and brought his lips to hers. For an instant, he did not react, and then his mouth opened, and they were kissing with an intense and urgent passion. She allowed her hands to tangle in his hair, something she had imagined doing many times since the evening she had attended him in his chambers. She pushed him closer to her, feeling his lips and tongue move against her mouth with vigour and skill. His hands moved to her shoulders, squeezing them gently. After what may have been moments or hours, they broke the embrace, and he gazed at her, breathing heavily. She too was gasping.  
“Tyrion, believe me, you invoke _many_ feelings within me. But pity is not one of them.”   
With that. she turned and left, not trusting herself in his presence any longer. 

Margaery’s mind was in turmoil as she returned to her family’s apartments. She had been bold many times in her life, but she was sure that, never before, had she come close to being so reckless. At the same time, she could not find it in her to berate herself harshly – not when she thought of how Tyrion’s lips had felt on hers, how it had been to be pressed so close to him. She felt as if she was trembling all over, and whether it was shudders of pleasure or fear of potential consequences she could not have said. 

Having returned to her chambers in such a tumultuous state, she had been hoping to find them deserted. However, her cousins were still in attendance, although, mercifully, Cersei was long gone. Margaery knew she would have to speak to her grandmother about the Queen’s plot at some point. Her only hesitation was relating anything to do with Tyrion. She knew Loras had guessed her feelings toward the little Lannister, so it would be correct to assume that Olenna was also aware of her inclination. She gave her cousins a beaming smile and sat down, hoping they would be gone soon. Her earlier recklessness had subsided, but she could not say she felt calm. Where before she had been uneasy regarding Loras’s betrothal, now she was afraid. Where before she had disliked Cersei, now she felt hatred. Where before she had been accepting, albeit with rapidly diminishing enthusiasm, of her own betrothal, now she was desperate for a way out. However, she knew one would not be forthcoming. Instead, she must somehow endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally right?! I hope everyone also enjoyed Tommen the adorable making another appearance, he's such an enabler for JS and TM fluff!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented, I really love hearing people's thoughts on the story : )


	22. Confession is good for the soul

Jaime lay on his back, gazing up at the tent canopy. Sansa was asleep beside him, curled into herself; he knew they would soon need to wake and break their fast, but her sleep had been so troubled on the journey that he wanted to ensure she got as much rest as possible. They were very close to Casterly Rock now, and in the weeks of travel he had done his best to bear his soul to her; he had answered whatever she asked and, in the course of this, found out much about her. Some of it had been excruciating. 

He remembered the night she had demanded he recount in detail the day he pushed Bran Stark from the tower. She had been overcome by a cold fury and had glared at him the whole of the next day. He had snapped at her then, mainly because of his own guilt regarding the matter. He had asked her what she thought would have happened, had Bran told anyone what he saw. She had coldly thanked him for saving Cersei and Joffrey, so that they could torment her.   
“Yes, I saved Cersei – I loved her more than myself! I saved Joffrey, but I also saved Tommen and Myrcella! Things are rarely simple, Sansa.”   
She had treated him with frigid coldness for the rest of the day. Then, in the morning, she had come to him and, as he looked at her, he was reminded of her mother in a way he never had been before.  
“I understand why you pushed him, Jaime. I cannot forgive you; it is not my place to forgive you – I am not Bran. But I understand. If I have children of my own, and anyone tries to hurt them or put them at risk, I will rejoice to see that person die.”   
There was a definite hardness to her, which was different from the icy demeanour she had so often displayed. It was less a brittle defense and more a solid challenge. He did not doubt her words, nor did they frighten or dismay him. She was not speaking with the viciousness of Cersei or even the extreme ruthlessness of Tywin. To Jaime, her words showed that Sansa was strong – far stronger than almost anyone would have had him believe.

The previous night, she had been wakened by a troubling dream, and as he had comforted her, she had looked him in the eye and asked him about his own nightmares. He had not wanted to tell her; he knew that they made him appear weak. Cersei had never tolerated any display of weakness and saw it as something to exploit. But Sansa was not Cersei, and during this extended confessional, he had gained a far deeper understanding of how twisted his first experience of love had been. When he had held Sansa as she cried and raged for her dead family, he had not seen himself as superior to her in the face of her weakness; he had seen the outpouring as a natural reaction, and while he would never wish to be so openly demonstrative, he did wonder if he would feel such grief upon the death of any of his close family members, save Tyrion. He felt that, if he was truly to hope that she could reconcile herself and love one so internally damaged as himself, he needed to be as open and honest as he had told her he would be. He had held her gaze as he spoke.  
“I dream about Aerys. It is strange, because I never dreamt about what happened that day before Locke — ”  
“What’s Locke?”  
There it was; the only other aspect of himself which sharing with her would expose him more than the nightmares; but at the same time, he desperately wanted to tell her. He had thought he was shielding her by maintaining an idealised impression of himself, but, really, it had been as much – if not more – to do with his own pride. Talking to her about his past had given him a chance to see himself with a clarity that he never had before. Jaime had always been quick to act, basing his decisions on instinct rather than any great pondering; neither had he ever been prone to dwell on past events. While he did not think this approach was without merit, he did now feel that he could have learnt more from his mistakes. Now he truly had a chance to take a different approach to his life; he was removed from Cersei and returned to his place as his father’s heir. He was certain however that he would not be able to truly change for the better without Sansa by his side. This more than any empty worded vow, he could see was his last chance for honour. He took a deep breath and recounted to her his time in captivity and all that had been done to him.   
“It wasn’t the pain… I’ve been hurt before in battle; it was the look in their eyes, and the way they did it. No – more than that – they made me see that if I lost my hand, I would have nothing, I would be nothing.”  
“You would not be nothing, Jaime. For your sake, I am gladder than I can say they did not maim you, but don’t ever say it would have made you nothing.”  
He had grasped the hand she had placed on his shoulder, bringing it to his lips, not trusting himself to speak. He had wanted to kiss her mouth and tell her that his heart was hers, but he did not. He felt that he needed to grant her freedom of choice and that outward declarations on his part, when he had made his feeling clear enough previously, would place her under too much pressure. 

Now she began to move beside him and he felt a rush of affection as he looked at the way she twisted her pretty face as she awoke. She opened her beautiful azure eyes and gave him a small smile.   
“Good morning, Sansa. We should rise and break our fast: we will have to break camp soon.”  
She nodded, and they rose from the bed; she retreated behind her dressing screen, and he called his squire to bring him his clothes and to provide them with breakfast. They were seated at the table when Sansa addressed him:  
“We did not end up speaking much of your nightmares last night, Jaime, but you did tell me you dreamt of Aerys.”  
Reflexively, he glanced about him, ensuring they were alone, although he already knew it to be the case.   
“I also told you the dreams started after my time with Locke. I think it was because there were times when I truly believed he would take my sword hand. The dream is always the same: I am in the throne room, just as I was. Aerys is ranting and raving; he truly was a Mad King by that point. He stands and shouts – no, screams – ‘burn them all,’ and I know I have stop him, so I approach from behind, and I go to draw my sword, but I can’t; I look down and I see that I have no hand. The king turns and laughs in my face; then, there’s an explosion, and all I can see are green flames.”  
Sansa’s voice reached him, like a rope pulling him from the ghastly spectre of his dream.  
“The Mad King said ‘burn them all?’ ”  
“That he did, more and more frequently as the mania took him.”  
“Jaime, why did you truly stab Aerys?”  
He glanced at her, and was silent for a moment, he had so rarely spoken of the true reason why we had stepped into the role of kingslayer. Of all the things he had confessed to his wife, this had been the one he had wanted to tell her most, but also the one he had held back until she directly questioned him. When he did speak, the words tumbled out.  
“He had caches of wildfire all over the city; he wanted them lit he was going to kill everyone. My father was leading an army to King’s Landing: he would certainly have died, and all the small folk, women, children – everyone. I did what I needed to do to stop him.”  
“And you never told anyone this?”  
“You are the first to ask me. But I did tell Tyrion.”  
It had felt so important to him that his younger brother knew he was not simply a man without honour, that he had not forsaken his sacred vow lightly, or for any selfish gain. Tyrion had looked up at him with tears in his eyes, moved by what Jaime had been forced to do and what it meant for him, and assured him that he had known from the minute he had heard about the murder of the king that Jaime would not have committed the deed without a motivation such as this. Thinking of the complete, unconditional love and trust his brother had always shown him made Jaime miss Tyrion keenly. He hoped his brother was safe. Jaime had always told himself that Tyrion was more than capable of holding his own against their sister, but this had been before he had truly acknowledged all that Cersei was capable of. He was deep in thought, and when he felt Sansa embrace him tightly, he was startled.  
“You saved everyone and you let them think the worst things about you.”  
“I simply did what I had to do.”  
“You are remarkable.”  
She loosened her hold on him and looked into his eyes, but did not break the physical contact. Jaime returned her glance; the hope that rose within him was almost painful in its intensity. Before she could open her lips to speak, a servant entered and announced it was time to break camp. It was all Jaime could do not to groan with frustration. 

He had not seen her for the rest of the day. His wife was a competent horsewoman and had ridden beside him for most of the journey. However, over the last week or so, she had been more and more fatigued and that morning had admitted she felt exhausted. She had agreed to ride in the wheelhouse, so Jaime was riding his horse alone. They were perhaps a week from the Rock, their host much smaller now that a large number of the bannermen had dispersed. Jaime tried to remember how many years it had been since he had seen his boyhood home. It was a strange thought that he would now be its lord one day. He could not quite grasp the reality of this, not least because it seemed impossible to fathom a world which did not include Tywin Lannister. 

The host made camp. He was waylaid by a discussion relating to some matter which would require his attention upon arrival at the Rock and did not join his wife until their evening meal was served. Sansa smiled at him when he entered the tent, but she seemed distracted and perhaps ill at ease. She did not appear to have had a restful day, and her face was paler than usual. Dinner this evening was some kind of fish and, as the maids set it down, Sansa drew her features into a grimace of distaste. She sat and took a sip from her goblet, clearly trying to master herself, but as the aroma of dinner grew stronger she declared irritably.  
“I cannot eat this perch, the smell of it is making me feel ill.”  
For a moment Jaime was unable to speak. He had been so thankful throughout his marriage that Sansa had not once called Cersei to his mind. However, her pronouncement on the fish, jolted him into a remembrance of Cersei using almost the exact same phrase. The reason he remembered it so clearly was because it had been the same day she had told him she was carrying Joffrey. He swallowed.  
“Sansa, when did you last bleed?”  
“When did I?.. Not since… It was before our last week in King’s Landing… No… No, I cannot be!..”  
Her consternation was like a knife to his heart. He had been so hopeful that she would remain by his side. He made a concerted effort to feign indifference:  
“It isn’t all bad. If the child’s a boy, you will have given me an heir, and my father is all the more likely to leave us alone.”  
Sansa frowned for a moment.  
“ ‘All bad?’ What?.. Oh, you stupid man!”  
Incongruously, she burst into laughter, looking at him and shaking her head. He could only stare as she rose from her seat and came to him, placing her hands on his face.  
“Oh, Jaime, I am sorry! I was simply perturbed, because I don’t want you to think my decision to stay by your side is anything to do with being with child.”  
He looked into her eyes, her wonderful bright, blue eyes. “ ‘Your decision to stay by my side?’ ”  
“Yes. Jaime, I made up my mind this morning. Back in King’s Landing, I felt I loved you and now, having heard all you have said, I find I love you even more.”  
He released a shaky breath and pulled her into an embrace.  
“Sansa, I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone.”  
For the first time in weeks, he captured her mouth with a kiss, conveying all the love and happiness he felt. She reciprocated enthusiastically and, for all they were days travel from Casterly Rock, Jaime felt as if he had come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Jaime are back together : ) I hope you are all happy with how they've worked through their differences.   
> We made it through season 7! To be honest I'm kind of glad it's over so I can fully retreat into my fan fic bubble once more ; )  
> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented.


	23. Loyalty and Lies

Tyrion made his way to the Small Council chamber with little enthusiasm. Joffrey was highly unlikely to grace them with his presence, but he would still have to endure his father, his sister, and their creature, Pycelle. Of the other members of the now diminished body, only Varys had never taken steps to place Tyrion in the arms of the Stranger, and the Lannister still doubted he, or anyone, could truly count on the Spider as an ally. 

From the perspective of his role as Master of Coin, the preparations for Joffrey’s wedding were complete. The cost was obscene, even with the Tyrells paying for half of it, but then “obscene” somehow seemed appropriate, given it was Joffrey’s wedding. It was best he did not give too much thought to the other participant in the nuptials.

He had not seen Margaery since the day they had kissed; at least he had not seen her in person. His mind’s eye was another matter entirely. Despite his best efforts, he had been unable to stop himself from dwelling on those soft but insistent lips, the taste of her tongue in his mouth, or the way her fingers trailing through his hair had made him want to feel those hands on other parts of his body. Aside from the kiss itself, he had pondered at length the motivation behind it. His first instinct was to assume that she was in some way attempting to entrap or trick him; perhaps, she felt securing his devotion would afford her some protection against Joffrey. He could almost convince himself that these reasons were behind what she had done – almost, but not quite. While he was well aware that Margaery knew how to play the game, he could see that she was not Cersei, and, somehow, he did not think she would use him as heartlessly as Cersei would, in her position. They had been amicable with each other up to now, and he knew she was more than observant enough to have seen how things lay between him and Joff: it would not have been necessary for her to dangle a romantic attachment in front of him to secure his support and committing so imprudent an act put her in a risky position. However, if he discounted this option, what could the reason be? He could not suspend his disbelief long enough to even entertain the idea she could reciprocate the feelings he had for her – but then, should he put it down to strain? In any case, he concluded, it made little difference. He had already acknowledged to himself that he had fallen in love with Margaery and he knew that this love ran deep. He would do all he could to protect her from Joffrey even if she never looked at him again. In addition, regardless of the reasons Margaery had for kissing him, it was not something they would be in a position to repeat, and the best course of action open to him was to forget about it. 

He entered the Small Council chamber and found the other council members already there; in addition, he was surprised to discover Oberyn Martell lounging elegantly in a chair. Only the Dornish Prince and Varys acknowledged his arrival. As Tyrion scrambled into his chair, Tywin began to speak.  
“Prince Oberyn, I thank you for attending and for agreeing to take up a seat on this council in order to represent Dorne.”  
Oberyn acknowledged Tywin’s words with a slight tilt of his head. Of the others around the table, only Cersei showed a visible reaction, shooting a glare in the direction of her sire. Tyrion looked to the Red Viper.  
“So, you plan to stay in King’s Landing, prince Oberyn? I did not think you would find it appealing.”  
“Why do you say that, Lord Tyrion? I am a man of varied interests: I am happy to live anywhere where I can fulfil my desires, and King’s Landing has everything I currently need.”  
Cersei snorted contemptuously, clearly thinking the remark referred simply to brothels. Tyrion was not so sure: although Oberyn’s tone was light and there was a smirk on his face, his eyes burned intensly, and Tyrion was reminded of their previous conversation. _If the Red Viper remains here, it means he intends to have his vengeance; my father must know it, yet he keeps him close…_  
Tywin continued:   
“Lord Varys, what word is there of Stannis Baratheon?”  
“He remains locked away on Dragonstone; to all appearances, he is a completely broken man.”  
“To all appearances?”  
“There have been some rumours that he and his Onion Knight plan to sail for Braavos to negotiate with the Iron Bank.”  
Cersei set her goblet down.  
“Why on earth would the Iron Bank finance him? He was defeated soundly at Blackwater; he will not dare to attack us again.”  
Tyrion noted with bitterness, but not surprise, that his sister made no effort to acknowledge his role in that sound defeat. Tywin gave no sign of having heard her.   
“Do you have any indication as to whether the Iron Bank will look favourably on such an approach?”  
Varys shrugged apologetically.   
“The Iron bank is a secretive organisation, and their motives are often inscrutable. I would imagine that a key factor in their decision will be the strength of the Crown, and, if I may say, of House Lannister.”  
Tyrion thought of Jaime and Sansa. Word of the deaths of the last of her family had reached the capital just after they departed. He was unsure how either would react or the impact it would have on them.. He wondered when they would hear word from Casterly Rock. At the spider’s words, Pycelle had leaned towards Tywin obsequiously:   
“My Lord, if I may, as I was departing for this meeting, a raven had just arrived from Casterly Rock. I believe it is from Ser Jaime, perhaps, you wish to –”  
Tywin cut him off abruptly:  
“I will attend to it as soon as the meeting is over.”  
They dealt with several more routine matters, but it was clear to Tyrion that his sire was eager to draw the meeting to a close. When they had finished and Tywin had left, Cersei smirked into her goblet and remarked:  
“I am so keen to hear how my brother and his wife enjoyed their journey. Prince Oberyn, may I have a word with you in private? I wish to arrange for the sending of a gift to my daughter.”  
The Dornishman signalled his acquiescence, and the two exited, leaving Tyrion alone with Varys. Tyrion may have been wary of the Spider, but he had told Margaery he would try and determine who Cersei had been communicating with and now an opportunity to do just that seemed to have fallen into his lap. Varys did not attempt to strike up a conversation, but, equally, he made no move to leave.   
“So, Varys, do you see spying on me and reporting back to my lord father as part of repaying me for saving the city?”  
“Lord Tyrion, I would never report back to your lord father or anyone else with regards to you.”  
“I am flattered, truly.” Tyrion noted how Varys carefully avoided a denial of spying. He smiled at the eunuch.  
“I presume you must be telling him something, for I do not believe for a minute he has you watching my sister, and not me.”  
“Watching your sister?”  
“Yes, I have no little birds, of course, but I did hear _on the grapevine_ she had been sending some ravens to an indeterminate destination.”  
“‘On the grapevine?’ Oh yes, very good, my lord; all know your love of wine, of course.” Varys tittered. “Sadly, Lord Tyrion, I was unable to ascertain the recipient before turning the information over to Lord Tywin.”  
“I am sure that you have been able to since, though?”  
“You are very sharp, my Lord! Perhaps, that is one of the things which has captivated your new… friend.”  
Tyrion felt a jolt at that. He looked at Varys’ enigmatic expression and maintained a neutral tone:  
“I have no friends, Spider – unless we count you, of course.”  
“Flattery will get you everywhere, my lord. Should you happen to see Lady Margaery, you would be wise to suggest that she and her family are wary of the Florents in particular. It seems his father’s fiery demise at the hands of Stannis Baratheon has not put young Lord Rylene off attempting to claim Highgarden.”  
Cersei had been in communication with the Florents, the only house in the Reach to openly support Stannis Baratheon’s claim to the throne. Tyrion marvelled at his sister’s readiness to ally herself with anyone she felt could further her ends. _Perhaps, she is right about being father’s son._ He mused with sarcasm. Tyrion nodded at Varys.  
“If I should happen to see her, I will let her know.”  
“Very good, and be careful, Lord Tyrion: you seemed to have formed an attachment to the one person in King’s Landing your sister hates as much as you.”  
“Let me be clear, Varys: I do not know what you are talking about. I have formed an attachment to no one.”  
“As you wish, my lord.”  
Varys stood as if to leave. Tyrion frowned at him.  
“Why would you tell me this?”  
The Spider smiled sadly.  
“Aside from because you asked? I told you before: this whole city owes you a debt, even if that is not acknowledged. In addition, I care for the good of the people. Currently, we have stability; at least in the southern kingdoms, I would like to see it remain that way.”  
He swept out, the scent of lavender trailing behind him, not waiting to see whether Tyrion followed him.

When Tyrion arrived at his own chambers, he found Podrick at the door, blushing furiously.  
“Lord Tyrion… The Tyrells have arrived to see you… That is… Ser Loras and Lady Margaery. I showed them to the solar.”  
“Very good, Pod.” Tyrion was amused to note his squire’s habitual shyness seemed to increase sevenfold, when he set eyes on Margaery. _Hardly something I am in a position to reproach him for._ He found his own heart beating faster at the prospect of seeing her; fighting the urge to run his hand over his scar, he opened the door and entered.   
“Lord Tyrion! Forgive this intrusion: we bring you the best of news!”  
There she was, as bright and beautiful as ever. It seemed like a miracle that he had ever shared any physical intimacy with such a woman, even a single kiss. He was more convinced than before that what had happened was simply a moment of madness on her part, but one he would be eternally grateful for. As she had brought her brother along, she clearly did not plan to seduce him here; although he could not account for the beaming smile the Knight of Flowers had fixed him with as soon as he came through the door. Margaery spoke again:  
“Well, do you not wish to know what it is?”  
“Forgive me, my lady. I was temporarily distracted by your charming and graceful presence.”  
Just as his words were slightly too rushed to be truly suave, the breath of laughter, which accompanied Margaery’s acknowledging smile, showed that she was more than simply flattered by the compliment. For a moment, there was silence, then she seemed to remember herself. She reached into a pocket of her gown.  
“I received this letter today from a Lannister rider. Sansa sent it about a week before they reached the Rock. She and Jaime knew they would have to send Tywin a raven, but they wanted to tell us first.”  
She handed Tyrion Sansa’s letter. He read the missive: the joy evident in every word. A smile spread across his face, and he looked at Margaery.  
“She is with child.”  
“And happily reconciled with your brother. I must admit, I was unsure if he could manage that.”  
“Well, Jaime can be very persuasive, when he tries.”  
“Would you say it is a family trait?”  
She seemed to realise quickly that this last remark could be construed as flirtatious. Her face became serious.  
“Tyrion, with regards our last meeting –”  
“There is no need to say anything, my lady. I appreciate that you currently have much on your mind and may not be feeling yourself.”   
He had said it mainly to stop her from dismissing what had passed between them as a moment of madness: he did not think he could bear to hear her confirm his own assessment of the situation. However, his words also reminded him of what he had been told by Varys. He spoke again:  
“Aside from this happy news, it is fortuitous you are both here. I have been able to look into the matter we discussed when last we met, and it appears my sister was indeed sending missives to a house in the Reach. Perhaps, you should make your grandmother aware of it.”  
Loras looked grave, and Margaery had turned white.   
“May I ask which house you refer to, Tyrion?”  
“The Florents of Brightwater Keep.”  
She exchanged a glance with her brother and nodded grimly.  
“I thank you for this information.”  
“As I said, I am always at your service, Lady Margaery.”  
Her face softened, and she said quietly:  
“Please Tyrion: Margaery is fine.”  
She offered him her hand, and he kissed it, thinking it a poor substitute for her lips. Then she took her brother’s arm, and the pair departed. 

Tyrion could not remember feeling such pleasurable anticipation prior to a Lannister family dinner than he did that night. He had no doubt that the raven his father had received earlier that day had contained news of Sansa’s pregnancy, and he was maliciously eager to see how Cersei would react.

As well as his father, sister, and nephews, the Tyrells were seated at the table and, for the second time that day, Tyrion was surprised to find himself in the company of Oberyn Martell. Tyrion waited until the meal was underway, and he judged his sweet sister to be just inebriated enough to be unable to hide her ire. Then he addressed Tywin:  
“Father, I do believe during today’s Small Council meeting Pycelle mentioned that you had received a raven from Casterly Rock. Might I enquire as to how my brother and his lady wife fair?”  
Tywin looked at him for a moment. Tyrion thought his father’s face displayed an expression he had never seen before. It was not happiness, but something like satisfaction.  
“My son and his wife have arrived safely at Casterly Rock, and the Maester there has confirmed her to be with child: all being well, the babe should be born within seven moons.”   
Joffrey, not without discreet encouragement from Margaery, rose to his feet and proposed a toast. Tyrion could see the king was on his best behaviour, but also noted the rate at which he was consuming wine, and wondered how long his composure would last. As the king resumed his seat, Margery’s delighted exclamation rang out:  
“What wonderful news! I am so happy for them, I know how much they love one another.”  
The look his sister threw Margaery was loaded with venom.  
“You must pray you find yourself in the same state so quickly after your wedding: no one wants a barren queen.”  
Logically, Tyrion could agree with the words if not the spirit in which they were said. The chief duty of a queen was to provide an heir, after all, and he also knew that his father would not allow any baby to be put at risk by Joffrey’s violence, so a pregnancy would afford Margaery a measure of security. However, he could not help his guts twisting at the thought of Margaery carrying Joff’s babe. _Any other man’s babe, if truth be told._  
Margaery’s eyes had glazed momentarily; but then she fixed Cersei with a smile almost as vicious.   
“And I shall pray that your union with my brother is also fruitful. To think – should we both bear sons – they will be cousins, and also nephew and uncle. Such overlapping family relations seem strange. At least, they do to me.”  
Tyrion’s eyes fixed on Margaery with mild panic. He knew only too well that his sister could be dangerous when provoked. This time, however, Cersei contented herself with a sneer, and the moment passed. 

The evening continued, and Joffrey became progressively more drunk. He leered and then pawed at Margaery: her attempts to discreetly rebuff him clearly irritating him more, as his intoxication increased. Tyrion wondered if this was how Jaime had felt standing guard over Robert Baratheon, as he shamed Cersei with any serving wench who passed his way. It was a galling train of thought. Perhaps, Margaery was seeking to use him, even if she did have some friendly feelings towards him. If this was the case he could not truly blame her. Doubtlessly, she simply thought he desired her body – after all, he would have to be extremely foolish to fall in love with her. He laughed bitterly to himself.   
“Something funny, uncle?”  
He looked up at his repulsive nephew, noticing the way Joffrey seemed to have tightened his grip on his betrothed’s shoulder, judging by the way she tried and failed to shrug it off.   
“I fear I am simply too deep in my cups, your Grace. Still, when you’re going through hell, the best thing is to keep going.” He raised his goblet. “A toast to you and your beautiful betrothed. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”  
He placed the cup to his lips and drank deeply. Joffrey sneered at him and turned to Margaery.  
“I hope you do not think it bad luck to receive a toast from such an accursed creature, my love.”  
Tyrion expected some practiced simper and sugary response to fall from her lips, and he steeled himself for it. Margery simply took Joffrey’s hand and firmly removed it from her shoulder.   
“I hope you will excuse me, Your Grace. I am feeling greatly fatigued and somewhat unwell; I think it would be best, if I left you to your revelry.”   
The moment she stood, her brother was by her side. Loras, although no Jaime, was an imposing enough figure to intimidate Joffrey. The king drew his face into a pout, but nodded, and let the pair exit without further remark. After some minutes and a further goblet of wine, he began to amble around the large table. He came to where Prince Oberyn was seated.   
“So, my prince, how do you find King’s Landing?”  
Oberyn shot him a wide smile.   
“It stinks of shit, Your Grace.”  
Joffrey gaped at him for a moment, before bursting into raucous laughter. He slapped the other man on the back.   
“Excellent! I like a man who speaks his mind.”  
Oberyn briefly bowed his head, then stood.  
“Excuse me, Your Grace, I wish to offer my congratulations to your grandfather.”   
This time, Joffrey seemed to be aware he was being snubbed. The words came out in a bluster:  
“It is I, who should be congratulated.”  
Tyrion saw with clarity where the discussion was going. He glanced around the table and saw Cersei looking more pleased than she had since Tywin’s announcement. The Queen of Thorns had her eyes firmly on Joffrey and Oberyn Martell, and despite having Mace Tyrell wittering beside him, so did Tyrion’s father. Tyrion knew he should stop his nephew but having just witnessed his filthy little hands on Margaery, a part of him wanted to leave the king to flounder.   
Faced with a quizzical Oberyn, Joffrey continued:  
“I visited Lady Sansa’s bedchambers before she left.”  
“Is that so?”  
Joffrey laughed.  
“You should have seen the marks upon my back. All Northerners are wildlings, when it comes down to it.”  
Tyrion heard his father’s voice cutting across the room:  
“I think it is time you went to bed, your grace.”  
Joffrey would perhaps have argued, had it not been for the escorting presence of two Lannister guardsmen. Tywin’s usual stony visage was back in place, as he exited the room behind them. Tyrion hurried after his sire, managing to catch him halfway down a corridor.   
“Father, what Joff said was pure fancy. The day he refers to, Sansa remained in her bedchamber whilst he was in the solar: it was the day I told you of, when Jaime drew his sword against Joffrey.” Tywin responded coldly:   
“And yet you made no move to contradict him.”  
Tyrion felt frustration.  
“Would you have shielded me from the king’s wrath, if I had?”  
“This is not about you! This is about House Lannister. I will not have us dragged through the mud.”  
Tywin stalked off toward his chambers. As on the night of Jaime’s wedding, Tyrion was taken aback by the intensity of his father’s anger. He remained in the corridor for several minutes longer, then decided to return to his own rooms.

He had gone a short way along an external corridor, when he noticed Lady Margaery. It seemed she had parted ways with her brother and was standing by a small balcony, with view into a courtyard garden.   
“You should not have left Joffrey so abruptly, my lady. It is likely he will forget the incident by morning, but, should he not, he may seek to make you suffer for it.”  
She turned, and he was taken aback by the intensity of her eyes:   
“I could not sit there and support him in his attempts to humiliate you.”  
His fear for her and of the recklessness she had displayed that night made his reply sharp.  
“I suggest you get used to it – after all, you are marrying him.”  
She looked hurt for a minute, and then her features shifted, and he felt – as he sometimes did with her – that he could not read her expression at all. It made him uneasy.  
“Yes, I am; and you made a point of toasting our wedding tonight, so I wonder who seeks to make whom suffer and for what.”  
He hated how well she seemed to read him: ocassionally, when he was with her, he felt he was defenceless and vulnerable in a way he had never been before. He felt very keenly he had to least try and protect himself in some small way; so he gave her a crooked smile.   
“I shall be your uncle, and then we can suffer together; in my experience, that is the essence of family life.”   
He wished he had a goblet in his hand which he could raise: it would have made him feel less defenceless under her gaze. He turned from her and walked to his chambers, knowing full well there wasn’t enough wine in the whole keep to drive the memory of her kiss from his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked left kudos or commented.


	24. A Lion and his Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe it has been ten chapters since we last had some lovely, sexy JS fluff. I think we're long overdue some more don't you? ; )
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented.

Sansa walked through the grounds of Casterly Rock, the fresh sea air blowing her hair into her face. Although King’s Landing was also coastal, the pungent aroma of the city and the warm calm of the Narrow Sea made that easy to forget. Here, at Casterly Rock, she could always hear the waves crashing and taste the salt on her lips. She already loved it: it brought back memories of the freshness of Winterfell, but was also different enough that it did not call her childhood home to her mind painfully. At Winterfell, she had been a happy child – at Casterly Rock, she would be a happy woman. 

She had spent the past hour in discussion with the steward. As lady of the household, it was her duty to ensure that stores were maintained and the preparations for the coming winter were underway. Jaime had told her there was no need for her to trouble herself with such things. Casterly Rock had been without a lady for decades now, and the household could run as it always had. Sansa had stood her ground, however. She truly loved the protectiveness Jaime displayed towards her and their baby; but that did not mean she would resign herself to being a delicate ornament. She knew that she had to prove herself to the people here. It was not that anyone had even come close to showing her disrespect: Tywin Lannister may be far away in the capital, but he cast a long shadow, which ensured that Jaime and Sansa were never openly defied of questioned. However, Sansa was aware that many of the people she saw around the keep would have lost loved ones at the hands of her brother’s forces. Even Jaime’s aunt and uncle had been somewhat distant towards her at first, and it was not until she offered them her condolences for the loss of their sons that they had begun to treat her with less coldness. Sansa was not surprised by any of this, nor did it greatly dismay her. In King’s Landing, she had been forced to accept her badge as prisoner and a traitor’s daughter; her happiness, and even her safety, fully dependent on the whims of others. At Casterly Rock, she had a role and a purpose, and some measure of power: she could shape how others saw her, and she meant to make them love her. 

She reached Jaime’s solar and opened the door, smiling as she noted he had abandoned his desk and the pile of letters to stand on the balcony. She could not reproach him for that; the view of the Sunset Sea was spectacular at any time of day. She came to stand by his side.  
“Jaime, you should be attending to the correspondence from the lords of the West! Your father will want to know what state they found their lands in when they returned.”  
He turned his head to her with a devilish smile; she could already feel a fluttering in her lower belly even before he addressed her.  
“I would attend to it, wife, but here you are, distracting me.”  
He made a move to grab her waist, but she quickly darted away, then took his hands in hers and began to pull him back inside.  
“That is hardly fair, I have only just arrived.”  
“Well, before you came in, I was distracted by thoughts of you… Thoughts of last night.”  
Jaime was delighted to see the smile that spread across his wife’s face. He had made light of his duties to her, hoping it would afford him an opportunity to turn the conversation in this direction. Certainly, since they had arrived at Casterly Rock, any impression that Sansa was reserved in their physical displays of love had become memories. Their joinings were ardent and without constraint, and Jaime derived more satisfaction from the couplings than he ever had before. This was a pattern he found repeated in every aspect of their relationship. More than when they had been in King’s Landing, here, he truly felt like a husband, and it was a feeling he adored. It was also one that he felt placed a weight of responsibility on his shoulders; not a cumbersome or restricting one, it felt like the solid reassurance of armour. Sansa belonged to him in a way Cersei never had; not just because their relationship was not shrouded in secrecy, but because his wife gave him her whole self. He knew also that he belonged to her more than he had to his sister – he had given Sansa all that he was, and her loving acceptance of that made his heart swell and his soul soar. 

Although Sansa had returned Jaime’s smile, she could not help her eyes from darting around the room. Casterly Rock was beautiful, and even after such a short time here, there were already moments when she felt as if it was her home. But it was so quintessentially Lannister that, at other times, she felt as if the ghost of young Cersei was hovering just beyond her line of vision. 

Jaime sensed her unease and guessed the cause of it. He had noticed how carefully she had asked about which chambers he and Tyrion had used as children, where Jaime had played; never mentioning Cersei. He had been careful to tell her the chambers that were now their own had been shut up before his mother died, but now he felt they could not skirt around the issue any longer. He tilted her chin gently upwards and looked into her eyes.  
“Sansa, I left Casterley Rock when I was a green boy in order to squire; I was knighted at fifteen, and once I took the white, my visits were infrequent. I can assure you, there are very few places in this keep which hold… intimate memories for me.”  
She looked down at that. He had been as gentle as he could be about it, but still, it was not something she liked to be reminded of. When she glanced up, she could see he was anxious. They had been through a lot in their short time together, and things were still very new. But Sansa had made her choice, and she was in no doubt it had been the right one. She felt once again that in this place and at this time, she was no longer completely at the mercy of others, and that she had the power to stop the past from hurting her. If she was concerned about ghosts, then what she must do was chase them away. She smiled at Jaime and raised one eyebrow.  
“I see. So, if, for example, I was to sit atop this desk and ask you to take me – that would be the first time you had ever taken a woman in this room?”  
For an instant, Jaime seemed speechless, and Sansa’s smile grew. She walked slowly and deliberately to his desk, brushed away the waiting letters and lifted herself onto it, looking at him expectantly. His eyes were alight with passion and desire, his face lit up with a grin, and she truly felt she had never wanted him more. He quickly turned to the balcony and closed the shutters, then, almost sprinted towards her, capturing her mouth in a kiss which they broke by laughing. He smiled at her and shook his head.  
“You are incredible, Sansa.”  
“Are we talking or fucking?”  
“Gods, I love it when you curse, I truly do.”  
And he proceeded to draw more curses from her, as he moved his lips slowly down her neck, gently grazing her with his teeth here and there. At the same time, his hands worked her bodice loose and soon, he was running his fingers across her nipples. Sansa had always adored the attention Jaime lavished on her breasts, and, as her pregnancy progressed, she found them even more sensitive to his touch. She grabbed his head and guided it down towards them, crying out loudly as he took a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the top of it. He stepped away from her and she mewed in protest, which cause him to smirk triumphantly. Soon enough he had knelt down beside the desk and after removing her small clothes, plunged his tongue into her woman’s parts. Sansa cried out again, grabbing his hair and pushing him closer to her.  
“Oh, Jaime! Gods, yes, yes like that!”  
Swiftly, she came undone with his name on her lips. She opened her eyes and observed her husband looking very pleased with himself. She tilted her head to one side expectantly and deliberately leaned back, placing both hands behind her to support her weight. Jaime stood and slowly removed his breeches and small clothes never looking away from her beautiful blue eyes, darkened by arousal, the lids half closed. Playfully baring his teeth, he moved towards her quickly grabbing her legs and placing them around his hips as he pushed his member inside her.  
“My beautiful wife.”  
“Yes, Jaime, take me. I’m yours.”  
The breathless, husky voice she used sent waves of desire through him, and he sped up his pace. She moved herself into a more upright position, bracing her hands against his chest, then grabbing his shoulders firmly. He hoped she would mark him: he loved being the only one in the world to see her forget herself completely.

Sansa dug her fingers into Jaime’s hard muscular shoulders; she adored the way that almost any part of his body she could touch felt hard and firm. She moaned loudly and pressed harder still, her husband’s noises of approval spurring her on. She could feel the tension coiling inside her and could tell by the almost frantic pace of Jaime’s thrusts that he was in a similar state. As she reached the peak of her pleasure, she looked him straight in the eye, and they went over the edge together. 

Later in the evening, they were seated at dinner, when a servant entered the room and spoke quietly to Jaime. He looked up at Sansa and smiled at her questioning expression.  
“Fear not, Sansa – all will be revealed after dinner.”  
She could tell he was not about to elaborate further, so she contented herself with a coquettish pout. Once the meal was over, he took her hand and led her out of the room. Casterly Rock was enormous, and Sansa did not yet know her way everywhere. However, she quickly realised where Jaime was taking them.  
“Why are we going to the Godswood? You know I have told you I am content to worship the Seven.”  
As a child, Sansa had blindly accepted the tenants of faith, much as she had accepted all the lessons given to her by those in authority. Now, she found herself unsure what to believe: she still felt that there was some form of higher spiritual presence, but spending a great deal of one’s time watching and waiting for its help reminded her too much of being a powerless prisoner in King’s Landing. She had largely eschewed the Godswood for practical reasons: she did not want to give the household at Casterly Rock any more reason to mark her out as separate and potentially hostile, but it went deeper than that. She had always felt somewhat uneasy in the Godswood, and there were times when she was unsure that the Old Gods would have anything to say to her; or at least, anything she wished to hear.  
“Who you worship is entirely your affair, my lady. However, you are right: we are going to the Godswood. There is something I would like you to see.”  
They entered the small, stone Godswood of Casterly Rock, deserted as always, and Jaime lead her to a secluded corner. Sansa gasped and her eyes filled with tears. There stood a statue in grey granite of two adult wolves surrounded by six small cubs. She felt her husband’s arms around her.  
“You should have somewhere to mourn them, Sansa, and to remember them – even if they are not all gone. I told you when we married that I was bound to you as much as you were to me. The same goes for this child and any others we have: they will be Stark _and_ Lannister and will need you to tell them of their Northern family.”  
Jaime paused and continued somewhat tentatively:  
“I thought placing this here was more appropriate than anything within the Hall of Heroes, but if you would prefer – ”  
He was stopped from saying anything further by his wife flinging herself into his arms. He felt unspeakably relieved. He had commissioned the statues while they were still journeying to the Rock: he had reasoned that, even if she did not wish to live with him, she would want somewhere to mourn. Unlike Sansa, he did not have to inhabit a space where his beloved’s family had walked, but that did not mean he did not feel their presence keenly at times. It would have been easy to let Sansa pretend she could forget them, but a part of the gift she had given him along with her love was the realisation that such things could not easily be forgotten. Jaime’s love for his wife, ran deeper and truer than anything, which meant not shutting his eyes to where she had come from and what had made her the woman she was. He held her in his arms, and they remained there in silence for some time, as the sun set over Casterly Rock.


	25. For whom the bell tolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant evening with the Tyrells

Margaery sank into the warm, lavender-scented water with a small sigh. She turned to her handmaiden.  
“Thank you, you may leave me now, lay out my lilac gown for me, please; I will not require help dressing for dinner.”   
The girl curtsied briefly and left. 

Margaery had spent the afternoon at one of the orphanages in Flea Bottom. King’s Landing’s poor recognised her very well and more than once, while she was on the visit, she had heard cries of “Gods Bless Queen Margaery.” _They already think of me as their queen._ The thought brought her no joy whatsoever. She scrubbed her hair and skin and then fell back into the warm water. There was no need to hurry with her preparations. Tonight, she would be taking her evening meal with her family in their apartments; Tywin Lannister had declared that he needed private counsel with Cersei, Tyrion, and Joffrey. Margaery was glad to be spared a dinner with the Lannisters: after all, she would have to endure Joffrey’s mother and grandfather almost constantly after her marriage. _My new family._ Margaery wondered if this was how Sansa had felt prior to her marriage to Jaime. She imagined not. Sansa had felt guilty for betraying the Starks: Margaery was playing her part in the family plan. Sansa had conflicting feelings for Jaime, but feelings none the less. Certainly, Sansa had not been in love with another man…

The water grew cold, and she raised herself out of the bath. She dried herself, threw a robe round her shoulders, and walked into her bedchamber. There, she pulled her chestnut curls into a braid at one side of her head and donned the clothes her handmaiden had left for her. She walked into the family solar and found Loras sitting near the window. His face wore a sullen expression, and she assumed he was dwelling on that morning’s family discussion. 

After Tyrion had alerted them that Cersei had been in communication with the Florents, Margaery and Loras had gone straight to their grandmother with this information. Margaery had not been lying when she had told Tyrion more than one household in the Reach resented the Tyrells’ possession of Highgarden, and the Queen of Thorns had ensured they were not without informers when such were required. When confronted, the young lord of Brightwater Keep had quickly capitulated. Cersei Lannister had, indeed, written to him, asking for his help in a plot to kill Loras and make it look like a hunting accident (Olenna had remarked on the woman’s lack of originality). In return, she had offered him gold and support to press his claim to Highgarden when Mace died without an heir. She had assured him that she would see to it that Joffrey did not seek to claim the title for any children his marriage to Margaery produced. It was clear that someone amongst the young lord’s retinue had realised how risky the scheme was and had kept the queen’s letter as a means of insurance. Currently, Lord Florent claimed he had refused involvement and had simply been waiting for Mace Tyrell to return to Highgarden, so he could inform him of the situation in person.   
“Sadly, we have no way to prove the sneering little brat is lying, so, for now, there is nothing we can do about him.” Olenna had remarked.   
Loras stared at her in disbelief.   
“We are doing nothing?! He has conspired to end my life, and we are doing nothing?!”  
“I am glad to see your ears at least work, Loras! Yes. What would you have us do? No, dear boy, I don’t actually want you to answer; I have no doubt it would involve a lot of men jumping on horses and charging about, trying to stab each other in the belly! We cannot act against the Florent, boy, as we cannot prove he did more than receive a letter. Now, this could be a way to get you out of that damn betrothal to Cersei Lannister: thank the Gods we will soon have the letter.”  
Loras’ jaw clenched.  
“What of Margaery? This shows what the Lannisters are capable of; we cannot leave her to their tender mercies.”  
“Margaery will be queen!”  
“Oh yes, thank you for reminding me, grandmother. Do you think she will derive as much joy from that as Rhaella Targayern or as Elia Martell?”  
Margaery turned to her brother and placed a hand on his shoulder.  
“Loras, grandmother is right. This does not give us sufficient reason to break my betrothal to Joffrey.” She desperately wished that it did; but her brother was her immediate concern. She knew he lacked the mindset to control Cersei. She had been more and more anxious over the last weeks about what this marriage would mean for Loras, and if she could ensure it never happened, then she was more than willing to. _He may be the knight, but I am the one who must be our champion._  
She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Then, Margery’s father had reached for her hand and looked at her, a baffled expression on his face.  
“Do you not wish to marry King Joffrey, daughter?”  
Had it not been for the tension in the room, Margaery would have laughed. She knew her father was not a clever man; she knew that he was puffed up with pride and had ambitions far beyond his abilities; but he loved her and Loras in his own way, and he genuinely thought he was doing the best for them. Having observed the Lannisters over the past months, she knew this was not to be taken lightly. Before she could respond to her father, Olenna cut in sharply:  
“For gods’ sake, Mace! It has been obvious to anyone with wits for quite some time that she finds Joffrey deficient in many aspects: chiefly, that he is too tall! However, she understands that she has come too far down this road to turn back now. The wedding ceremony will take place next week, and that is the end of the matter.”  
Loras had shaken his head and left the room. Margaery had noted that her grandmother had chosen to speak specifically of the wedding ceremony rather than the marriage, and she wondered if the Queen of Thorns was more active than she was letting on. Or maybe, Margaery was just clinging to any hope she could find. 

Now she approached her brother with a sympathetic smile:  
“Are you feeling calmer now, brother?”  
Loras looked at her solemnly.  
“When we arrived here, I told you this place was rotten to the core. It is worse than I ever imagined. Margaery, I know you are cunning, and charming, and all that you should be, but this will not be enough to protect you.”  
Hearing her younger brother voice her own fears made her stomach clench.  
“And what would you have me do, brother?”  
Loras looked her straight in the eye.  
“You should run away. If you asked him to leave, he would go with you, I am sure of it.”  
Margaery knew whom her brother referred to. They had spoken of this before, and now she simply shook her head. Loras may be certain of Tyrion’s heart, but she was not. He had spoken to her of his former loves – maybe one of those women still held his heart? Their last conversation had not ended on warm terms. Besides, how could she ask him to take such a risk? Leaving with her so close to her wedding was not far off treason. Nevertheless, the idea was certainly tantalising. Margaery was fully aware of the ridiculousness of her predicament; she had spent so long trying to make herself queen, and now, almost on the eve of her wedding, she was day dreaming about turning exile with Tyrion Lannister. She remembered his bitter toast to her. _Even if Loras is right, and he does care for me now, how long will that last? How long can I stay by Joffrey’s side before he despises or pities me?_ She did not know which would be harder to bear. From her first proper conversation with the little lord, it had felt crucially important to her that he saw her in a positive light. She realised now that his regard had come to mean more and more to her as her respect and admiration for him had grown. She wanted him to see her as more special than any other, because that was how she saw him. The idea that all this could be lost made her curse herself for ever wishing to place the crown on her head. Her turbulent thoughts made her irritable, and she looked at Loras sharply:  
“It is not that simple, Loras, and you know it! People do not just run off to the Free Cities as they please! The Lannisters would have our heads before our ship left port!”  
Her brother sighed.  
“I knew you would say that. I have done all I can to try and protect you; be assured you can count on me.”

Margaery looked at him warmly, but, at the same time, she wondered what he had meant. Before she could ask, Mace and Olenna arrived, and the family sat down to their meal. Margaery could not help but notice her father throwing more than one concerned glance her way; he seemed on several occasions almost about to speak but then thought the better of it. Instead, he attempted to engage Loras in trivial discussion, but her brother merely gave one word answers. Margaery herself found she had very little to say, and the meal passed in a decidedly subdued atmosphere.  
When they were almost finished, Loras spoke up:  
“Father, Grandmother, I spoke with Tywin Lannister today. I asked him whether there was a possibility of my being called to the Kingsguard. I know he had mentioned it to you when my betrothal to Cersei was first discussed.”  
“He said it to threaten us, you stupid boy! Do you think for one second we want to see you married to that woman?! I told you earlier: we can use the Florent plot to get you out of the marriage!” Olenna’s exasperation was palpable. Loras was not subdued.  
“Do you think for one second I want to marry any woman? Besides, someone has to protect Margaery: if I am a Kingsguard, she can keep me close, and she needs protecting from the King.”  
Olenna shook her head in disgust. Margaery squeezed Loras’ hand.  
“You do not have to do this, brother.”   
He gave her a smile.  
“It is what I want anyway, Marge. Maybe before Renly, I could have gone through with some marriage, but not now.”  
“Well done, Loras! You have found a way to do exactly as you like whilst dressing it up in chivalric notions!”  
Olenna levelled a glare at her dining companions before signalling to the girl who was serving.  
“You girl, go to the kitchens and fetch me some cheese. If I am to endure morose company, I see no reason why I should not eat as I like.” The girl nodded and left. Olenna looked around the table once more, and smiled crookedly:  
“Well, what a delightful, stimulating evening with my family! Shall I send for a bard to complete the festive mood?”  
Margaery attempted a smile, which she knew was brittle.  
“Why not grandmother? And have him play _‘The Rains of Castamere.’_ ”  
Her family looked at her with various degrees of concern on their faces. She managed another forced smile – it was that or start crying, and Margaery was not prone to tears, even now, when she felt as if she had been tense enough to snap for days.   
At that moment, the door opened and the maid returned. She was weeping, and there were two guards at her side. Margaery stood up, a feeling of foreboding rising within her.  
“What is the meaning of this?”  
“I am sorry, my lady, but you must all stay within your chambers. Guards have been sent throughout the keep. There was an incident earlier, in the Tower of the Hand.”  
“ ‘An incident?’ What is that supposed to mean?!”  
Olenna’s sharp inquiry was followed almost immediately by the tolling of bells. Margaery looked at her brother, whose expression of shock, she was sure, was mirrored in her own face. _The King is dead. Joffrey is dead!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Purple Wedding but we've still got rid of Joffrey. More on that in the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented.


	26. Long may he reign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events in this chapter take place on the same day as those in the previous one

Tyrion found himself making his way up the steps of the Tower of the Hand yet again. He wondered if the only joy his father derived from seeing him was knowing how he must have struggled up the long flight of stairs. He had been tempted to wait until the private family dinner that evening for this discussion, but he knew that the presence of Cersei and Joff would make any serious conversation difficult. 

He had received a communication from the Iron Bank of Braavos, stating they were growing increasingly concerned as to how the crown planned to finance its debt. Tyrion could only suppose that Vayrs had been right, as usual, and that Stannis Baratheon had sent a deputation to the Iron Bank, which had been well received. _Of course, they have no doubt also heard we have plenty of money to spare for a royal wedding: I am sure they seek to remind us of our priorities._

He reached the top and paused for a moment; he was not greatly fatigued by the climb, but thinking about the wedding always provoked a certain weariness of spirit in him. As he began to move towards the door of his father’s study, it swung open, and Cersei strutted out. Tyrion prepared himself for greeting her, but she swept past, her head high, and a triumphant expression on her face. Tyrion was not unaccustomed to being ignored by his sister, although her preferred tactics in their constant battling were generally sarcasm and bile. But on this occasion, he was fairly convinced that Cersei had not noticed he was there. He wondered what was occupying her mind so fully; if it was causing the victorious expression she had worn, he doubted it was anything he would be glad to hear. He reached the ajar study door and pushed it fully open.

“Father, I must talk to you regarding the Iron Bank.”  
Tywin Lannister was seated at his desk as usual. Less usual was that he was not occupied in any correspondence – genuine or otherwise. Of course, he had not been expecting Tyrion’s visit, but the way he sat still struck his son as odd. Tywin’s hands were on the desk, palm down, almost as if he sought to use them to steady himself. His expression was almost as inscrutable as always, but his eyes had a faraway look in them Tyrion had never seen before. He was actually gazing at the door, but Tyrion was certain his father was not looking at him. In fact, despite having announced himself with his opening remark, he was unsure his father was aware of his presence at all. 

“Father, may I speak with you?”  
He said it slightly louder, and, this time, his sire frowned before his eyes seemed to have refocused.  
“Tyrion… What is it now?”  
“I have word from the Iron Bank of Braavos. They are asking that we divulge how we plan to finance our debt.”  
Something about the demeanour of both his father and his sister had told him not to mention anything regarding Cersei, however much he wanted to.   
Tywin frowned at him.  
“I do not have time for this, tell me what you intend to do about it this evening at dinner.”  
His father’s voice lacked some of its usual sharpness, and although he did not speak again, he did not pick up his quill. Tyrion, by now thoroughly unnerved, managed to nod his assent before turning and walking away. 

He was making his way through the courtyard, when he was stopped by the sound of his name. He turned and observed Oberyn Martell strolling towards him, a smile on his lips.   
“Ah! Lord Tyrion – just the man! Do you know, I have been in this damned city for more than a month now, and I still cannot find a brothel were the whores perform the Mereenese knot correctly. I feel sure you can guide me in the right direction. Why don’t we head into the city right now, little friend?”  
“As enticing as your offer is, my prince, I fear I have duties to attend to.”  
“You disappoint me, my lord. You know, even in Dorne, we have heard word of your famous debauchery, but, myself, I have seen no evidence of it whatsoever. Don’t tell me whoever gave you that scar took your cock as well?” The Dornishman threw back his head and laughed. Then catching sight of Tyrion’s expression, he laid a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. “Come now! I simply jape with you, little friend. Of all the Lannisters, you are the one I like best.”  
“Given our previous conversation, you will excuse me if I don’t take that as a ringing endorsement, my prince.”  
Oberyn’s smile stayed in place, but his eyes darkened momentarily.   
“What do you say, we take a cup of wine together, my Lord? I assure you, it will not be poisoned – I will even taste it for you, if you wish.”  
Tyrion acquiesced; partly, because he could not think of a way to decline without insulting Oberyn; partly, because following the strange events in the Tower of the Hand, he felt he needed a drink rather badly. 

They reached the chambers Oberyn had been allocated for his stay, and Tyrion could not help but notice they were considerably better appointed than his own. The prince produced a jug and filled two goblets, ostentatiously drinking a small amount from both before setting them on a small table to allow Tyrion to choose either. Tyrion took one in his hand and raised his glass.   
“To Dorne.”  
Oberyn acknowledged the toast with a tilt of his head, lifted his own goblet, and drank deeply.   
“I am sure you will be pleased to know your niece shares your fond sentiment regarding my homeland, Lord Tyrion. I can also assure you that our people love her as much as she loves us.”  
Tyrion smiled at the Viper, anxiety prickling him, as well as guilt regarding the risky situation in which he had placed Myrcella.  
“I am glad to hear it, but not surprised. Myrcella is a sweet and innocent girl, and I do not believe anyone could wish her harm .”  
“Don’t worry so, Lord Tyrion! We don’t hurt little girls in Dorne. And you are right: she is sweetness itself. I was surprised when I met her older brother.”  
“I can assure you, prince Oberyn, it is Myrcella who is the surprise: King Joffrey is far more typical of our family.”  
“I do not need you to tell me that. So, she gets her nature from the Baratheons?”   
Oberyn tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. Tyrion met his gaze.  
“Perhaps. Did you ever meet Renly? An extremely personable and charming man.”  
Oberyn smiled widely:   
“Yes, that he was…”  
Before Tyrion could think too deeply on this, a Dornish footman entered and murmured into the prince’s ear. Oberyn nodded and, when the man had departed, he turned his gaze to Tyrion with a wry expression.   
“Well, it seems the great Tywin Lannister has summoned me to a private audience! I must cut short our drinking session, but do not forget: you owe me a visit to a brothel, little friend, and a Lannister always pays his debts.” He smirked and waited for Tyrion to rise from his seat, then the two men exited the room together. 

Upon leaving Oberyn, Tyrion once again headed towards his chambers and once again found himself waylaid. This time, it was the dulcet tones of Varys which hailed him.   
“Lord Tyrion, I trust I find you well. Might I enquire as to whether you have informed the Tyrells about the letter received by Lord Florent?”  
“As you are being uncharacteristically direct, Spider, I have no doubt you are fully aware that I have.”  
“A truly remarkable woman. Imagine what she could achieve with the right man by her side.”  
Tyrion threw Varys a sour look. _What game is the Spider playing?_   
“Now that you mention it, I have heard that Lady Olenna’s late husband rivalled their son in the intelligence stakes.”  
Vayrs looked at him with raised eyebrows, but Tyrion remained resolutely silent. After a moment, the eunuch bowed his head.   
“I will take my leave of you, Lord Tyrion; do not forget what I told you about you being the best hope for the current regime. I can tell you have already imbibed: you should practice moderation at dinner this evening.”  
“I am dining with my father, sister, and nephew – moderation will drive me to insanity.”  
But Varys was already sweeping away. 

The rest of his day passed uneventfully, and when evening arrived, Tyrion made his way once more to the Tower of the Hand. He was the last to arrive: Cersei and Joff were already seated when he entered. Tommen was not present, but this was not unusual. 

Joffrey was in high spirits, and if the flush of his face was anything to go by, he clearly had no intention of practicing moderation. Cersei’s face no longer wore the look of open triumph he had observed that morning, but she was undeniably smug and seemed more pleased with herself than Tyrion had seen her since Jaime and Sansa’s departure. His father seemed fully recovered from whatever the two had discussed this morning. After the first course was brought in, Joffrey fixed Tyrion with a manic smile.  
“Uncle, before you arrived, we were discussing next week’s festivities. Today, I finalised arrangements for one particular entertainment, which, I have no doubt, you especially will enjoy. it is a shame Sansa will not be in attendance, for I have no doubt it would have cheered her, too. Perhaps, it would even have given her some consolation for the disappointment that she is not my bride.”  
Cersei sniggered at this, but Tywin’s face was stony.  
“Your Grace, I can assure you that your Aunt Sansa can be in no way disappointed with her position as wife to the heir to Casterly Rock.”  
Cersei spoke:  
“One would hope that she would recognise it is a far better position than a traitorous Stark deserves. But then, she has always been a foolish girl, with a head that was turned very easily.”  
Tywin glared at his daughter but remained silent. Joffrey looked gleeful and seemed about to launch into a speech, but his grandfather signalled for the removal of plates and conversation was paused. 

Tyrion had finished his first goblet of wine and signalled to the cupbearer to refill it. As the meat course was served, he took a sip; it tasted somewhat sour. Under normal circumstances, Tyrion would not have given this a second thought – Tywin did not need to impress upon any at the table the wealth and power of house Lannister, therefore, he was unlikely to serve his best wine. However, Varys’ earlier words about moderation came back to him. He set the cup down, his mind working rapidly. Was this simply a flight of fancy on his part? Gods knew, he was under strain: the whole day had been unnerving, and if he was right, then what? Perhaps, all the wine was poisoned, but, perhaps, it was just his cup. He glanced at his sister again and thought of her air of triumph – was she attempting to end his life yet again? He recalled the rest of his conversation with the Spider – did some or all of his family think there was anything untoward between him and Margaery? The thought that he may have put her in danger filled him with dread. The meat finished and removed, Tywin raised his glass and glanced around the table.   
“I propose a toast: to the wedding of King Joffrey.”  
Tyrion forced down as much of the wine as he could bear; he was now convinced that it did not taste right, although he could not have put his finger on what was wrong.   
“Father, I think this wine may have soured.”  
Tywin stared at him coldly. Joffrey sneered.  
“Grandfather, pay the Imp no mind. No doubt, he wishes to dissuade us from drinking, so there is more for him.”  
Joffrey then rose unsteadily to his feet.  
“I propose another toast. To my long and prosperous reign. Anyone who does not drink will be guilty of treason.”  
“Joffrey, my love – ” Cersei, who had been silent since Tyrion had made his observation, had placed a hand on her son’s arm, but he shook it off. Tywin raised his glass in his grandson’s direction and repeated the toast. Joffrey smiled and drank deeply. He sat down, but Tyrion noticed a change in his nephew’s pallor almost immediately. Tyrion himself felt clammy and nauseated. After some minutes, Joffrey rose from his seat again, more unsteadily than before, and, almost bent double, began to stumble towards the door. He did not make it to the threshold, and collapsed to the ground, heaving loudly.  
“Joffrey!” Cersei rose to go to his side – she was clearly far from well herself; Tywin clutched his own stomach and, appearing to suppress a cough, turned to the cupbearer and demanded a maester be sent to the king’s chambers. 

Tyrion felt as if the room was spinning, his stomach was lurching, even without the spectacle of Joffrey writhing of the floor. He watched as two kingsguards carried his nephew away, a third supporting Cersei as she followed behind. Tywin appeared to suppress a cough yet again.   
“Tyrion, you should return to your chambers.”   
Tyrion wondered how exactly he was to do that, however, as he stumbled towards the door, to his surprise, Podrick was waiting outside. Tyrion felt too ill even to care about the fact that his squire picked him up and carried him to his chambers. He murmured urgently:   
“Find Bronn quickly, send him for Mytus.”   
After what had occurred at the Battle of Blackwater, Tyrion had thought it prudent to ensure he had access to a Maester not in the pocket of his family. Pod brought Tyrion back to his apartments then departed quickly. A little time later, Bronn returned with the man. Mytus had clearly discussed events with Tyrion’s squire: he produced a vial and asked that its contents be mixed with water for Tyrion to drink.   
“This will purge you, my Lord. It will be unpleasant, but necessary. I can tell you it was fortunate your man was able to locate me so quickly. Lannister guards are moving around the keep: I think it likely we will be confined closely before too long.”   
_So, foul play is suspected – no doubt I will be seen as a suspect, for all that I am a victim._ Just then he heard the toll of bells. It could mean only one thing. _Joffrey is dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So any thoughts on whodunnit? The culprit or culprits will be revealed in due course...
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented : )


	27. Fatherly Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented.  
> News of Joffrey's demise reaches Jaime and Sansa

Sansa raised herself up and splashed cool water onto her face. She hated being sick more than almost anything. As a child, she had always been healthy, and, prior to falling pregnant, she could probably count on one hand the number of times she had vomited. Therefore, the sensation was as unusual as it was distasteful: she could hardly imagine anything more unladylike. She remembered her mother telling her that she had experienced worse pregnancy sickness when carrying Sansa and Arya than she had with any of the boys. However, Sansa had not thought to clarify whether ‘worse’ meant frequency or intensity. Her sickness was by no means a daily occurrence, and it seemed to be triggered by consumption of certain foods. Sadly, it was becoming clear that one of these foods was back bacon, which Sansa also craved. 

She returned to the breakfast table, feeling simultaneously queasy and ravenous, as well as thoroughly grumpy about the undignified spectacle she had made with her swift departure. Jaime smiled at her kindly.  
“You should find this eases off in several weeks.”  
“Oh yes, you know all about it from your prior experiences!”  
The words were out before she had a chance to think on them, and she could have bitten off her tongue. She may be irritable and out of sorts, but she had no wish to hurt Jaime or damage the happiness they shared.  
“Jaime, I should not have said that.”  
She looked into his eyes, and, although they had darkened, she was relieved to note they had not become cold: they never did with her. She had glimpsed it sometimes, when he spoke with Cersei or Joffrey, and it disquieted her as it strongly called to her mind Tywin Lannister. 

Jaime felt the blow, but he knew she was not seeking to hurt him, not really. There was no getting away from his past, and he had no qualms about being honest with her, not now. He grabbed her hand.  
“Sansa, I don’t have any ‘prior experience,’ not really. I sired three children, but I could never allow myself to think of them as mine. I never even held them. I am not looking to you for sympathy: I was a man grown, I knew what I was doing. But I would have gone mad, if I had dwelt on things too much. I could never have felt the pride and happiness I feel now whenever I think of our babe inside your belly. You have given me something I have never had, my love. Something that I would not have dared to even think that I wanted, so, no, I promise you: I do not have any ‘prior experience’.”

Such a declaration would have made Sansa emotional at the best of times; given her already fraught disposition, she burst into a flood of tears. Jaime moved quickly to wrap his arms around her.  
“Oh, Jaime! I am such a terrible wife, I am so unladylike.”  
He pulled away from her slightly and tilted her chin up with his hand.  
“When have I ever indicated that I wish you to behave like a lady?”  
He was pleased to be able to prompt a small smile from her; he raised his eyebrows mischievously.  
“I hardly think it was very ladylike to take me in your mouth last night, forbidding me to touch you as you did it, and I do not think you could say I responded negatively.”  
Sansa was about to reply, when there was a knock at the door. Maester Creylen entered, looking grave.  
“My lord, a raven has arrived from the capital.”  
Jaime took the missive and tore it open. Sansa watched him as he read, saw the colour drain from his face. He ran his hand across his face and inhaled deeply.  
“Jaime, what is it?”  
“Joffrey is dead.”  
“Dead… How?”  
“It does not say.”  
He passed her the missive and stood.  
“I must have them ring the bells.”  
Sansa let him go. They both needed some time to digest this news. She picked up the letter and read the terse sentences. Joffrey was dead, Tywin, Cersei, and Tyrion were seriously ill; the letter had been sent the day after the fateful dinner. She placed her hand on her still flat stomach and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that they had not been in the capital. She heard the bells tolling and went in search of her husband.

Jaime had not been long in the Hall of Heroes when he felt the familiar feeling of Sansa’s hand on his shoulder. She gave him a small smile.  
“I thought I would find you here.”  
“Sansa, I truly feel the Gods use me as an instrument for their amusement. I finish telling you that I could never see him as a son, then I hear he is dead.”  
Sansa was unsure what to say. Her own feelings were clear cut as far as Joffrey was concerned; she felt a savage relief and even satisfaction that Joffrey was dead. A part of her wanted Jaime to feel the same: after all, her husband professed to love her more than he loved anyone; she had heard him threaten Joff never to come near her again. If Sansa was honest, she would have loved to see Jaime slay Joffrey with her father’s sword – were it not for the fact that she was sure such an act would destroy Jaime in the process. It was this realisation that made her wonder if Jaime would feel grief for his firstborn, or even find traces of affection for the dead that he had never had when Joff lived. She spoke in a gentle tone:  
“Do you mourn Joff?”  
“I do not, but I wonder what sort of man that makes me? Not a very good one, I’ll wager.” Jaime shook his head. “There were times when I thought I could kill him myself, even when he was not provoking that rage in me, I looked at him and felt nothing. Now, I feel nothing. That cannot be right, can it?”  
Sansa was aware he was looking to her beseechingly. She was not shocked or disgusted by what he had said and she sought to convey this to him.  
“I do not think poorly of you because you feel nothing. He was never a son to you, in truth. And he was a monster – I do not believe he became that way because of anything you did or did not do for him.”

Jaime looked at her and wished he could be as sure. His new life with Sansa had given him a different perspective on many things, and he frequently reproached himself for his behaviour toward his three children. For so long, he had told himself he could have done nothing about the way Joffrey was, but now, he could not help but wonder if that was really true. At the very least, there was the unsettling feeling that being a product of incest had contributed to Joffrey’s unstable behaviour. _Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin…_ It sometimes seemed beyond belief to him that he had been so reckless in his youth; were it not for the set of circumstances that had brought Sansa to him, he could have thrown away any chance at real happiness, for nothing. His wife spoke again:  
“Joffrey was what he was; I have no doubt if it were Myrcella or Tommen – ”  
Jaime laughed mirthlessly.  
“Yes, how could a father not love that beautiful girl or that sweet little boy? Yet neither Robert nor I were particularly loving. I had been thinking of asking father if Tommen could foster with us… I would have waited until the safe arrival of the babe, of course.”  
Sansa looked at him for a moment, the implication of the statement sinking in. She thought of her mother and father and the one blackspot in their otherwise happy marriage: Jon Snow. At that moment, she felt anger, but not with her mother. Catelyn had behaved unfairly (so did Sansa herself), but Jon was her father’s son. Ned had brought the boy into the world, and he should have ensured his wife treated Jon better. She frowned.  
“Jaime, while I thank you for your concern, you should not seek to use me as an excuse for hiding from your feelings about your remaining children.”  
He looked at her sharply, but Sansa knew him well now, knew that what they had was strong enough for honesty; so she carried on:  
“Myrcella and Tommen are kind and sweet. I feel nothing but affection for both of them. Truth be told, I would hope that you might want to spend more time with both of them, should the opportunity present itself.”  
He looked at her in awe.  
“I do not deserve a wife like you.”  
“I think we both know that people rarely get what they deserve. Jaime, you have spoken to me before now about honour and vows, now you are speaking of your regrets about Joffrey. What I have truly come to believe is that we should not dwell on the past. Not just because it is painful, but because it is easy. You can never be a father to those children, we both know that, but that does not mean you cannot do anything for them, that you cannot be in their lives. They will have need of you.”  
She was so wise and so good, he wished she’d been by his side all along. He wished Myrcella and Tommen were her children. Somehow, imagining this broke down something inside him, and he truly allowed himself to ache for the loss – not of Joffrey as he had been, but of the children he had never allowed himself to really think of as his. He promised himself that he would do better, for Myrcella and Tommen, and for his children with Sansa – not to waste the glorious chance the gods had seen fit to grant him.  
After some moments, his wife broke his musings with a tentative question:  
“Jaime, do you think they were poisoned?”  
“It seems likely.”

Sansa said nothing. While she was glad to hear of Joffrey’s demise, she was truly worried about Tyrion. She wondered how she would feel if Cersei perished. The longer she spent with Jaime, the more she grew to hate the woman. Sansa could see very clearly that the poisonous dominance his sister had held over Jaime for most of their lives had damaged him – and could have destroyed him. At the same time, Sansa could not discount lightly the strong bond the two had shared, and although she did not see the woman as a threat to her relationship with Jaime while she lived, she did wonder if Cersei could somehow regain her hold on her twin if she died. Sansa’s own grief for Robb was still fresh and she was aware that the bubbling resentment she had felt towards him during her time in the capital, caused her feelings of guilt and self reproach; their relationship had not been nearly as intense as that of the Lannister twins. She imagined Cersei being laid to rest in the Hall of Heroes and repressed a shudder. With regards to the old lion himself, personally, Sansa would not have mourned him. But she was aware, too, that he was crucial to the stability in the realm, and she dreaded to think of the burden which would be placed on his son’s shoulders, should the Stranger take him.  
After a moment Sansa sighed.  
“I hope Tyrion will be alright.”  
Jaime nodded. He was worried for his little brother, too; it was such short time since he had almost lost him thanks to Cersei. He smiled grimly.  
“Were it not for the fact Joff is dead, I would be convinced this was Cersei’s work: I believe she hates Tyrion enough to risk her own life to see him die.”  
“I hope she does not try to accuse him of this.”  
Jaime had not considered this possibility, and now he looked at Sansa in alarm. They both knew Cersei was more than capable. He took his wife’s arm.  
“I will not allow her to destroy him, Sansa, I promise you that.”  
“See that you don’t, and see that she does not destroy us all. She tried to, Jaime, and I hate her for that.”  
He pulled her close.  
“She is nothing to me now, and that will never change.”  
He knew it to be true as he said it, he knew there would be no one else but Sansa for him for as long as he had breath.  
The hugged fiercely for some minutes. Then Sansa looked up at him and smiled.  
“Come, husband. Let’s walk on the castle walls – the sea is suitably tumultuous for our mood.”  
He took her arm and thanked the Gods that he had such a woman by his side.


	28. Making the Best of the Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented.   
> Back to King's Landing now were the effects of dinner are wearing off and Margaery and Olenna are playing games...

Margaery was dressed in a black silk gown. Everyone was still confined to their chambers, but this did not mean she did not have to keep up appearances. She was glad Joffrey had died. She was glad it had happened quickly; that there had been no time for the expectation she would sit by his bedside or send up tearful prayers for his recovery in the sept. Her betrothed had been a truly repulsive human being, and now he was gone, she only felt relief. Her thoughts turned to Tyrion, and anxiety pricked every part of her; surely, he would recover. She could not bear to envisage a world without him in it; to never again see his smile or hear his voice. Over the past few days, there had been moments when she had wished more than anything that she had asked him to run away with her, that both of them were together, far away from all this. _I do not want to be without him._

It was frustrating in the extreme to be confined at such close quarters. Margaery longed to step outside to clear her head. She kept turning over in her mind what little they knew. She had not yet dared question her grandmother about to the king’s death; they were not guarded within their apartments, but, somehow, she still felt worried about being overheard. Furthermore, she was unsure how she would react to knowing Olenna had put Tyrion’s life at risk. She missed Sansa desperately, wishing her friend was here to comfort her. For want of any other outlet, she had sent a raven to Casterly Rock. It was couched in terms of grief for Joffrey, since she had no doubt it would have been read and resealed before sending. She wondered if Sansa would decipher its true meaning.

The Tyrells were sitting down for their midday meal, when there was a sharp knock at the door. It was quickly opened, and two Kingsguards entered.   
“Ser Loras, Lady Margaery, you will come with us at once.”  
“They will do no such thing! What is the meaning if this?!” The Queen of Thorns seemed to vibrate with rage.  
“Queen Cersei has ordered their arrest for the murder of King Joffrey, they will be removed to the black cells immediately.”  
“This is outrageous! King Joffrey was to be my husband! I loved him with all my heart; his death left me prostate with grief.”  
The knight did not appear moved by her display. Neither Margaery nor Loras had made any move toward the white cloaks, and after a few seconds, the two men began to approach Loras. One placed a hand on his arm.  
“Take your hands off me!”  
They began to drag her brother from his seat, and Margaery stood, her heart pounding. She heard swift footsteps outside and, in utter surprise, looked up to see Tywin Lannister standing in the doorway. 

He appeared to be fully recovered and surveyed the scene in front of him grimly. The white cloaks had stood to attention at his arrival, and Loras had used the reprieve to move away from them. Olenna Tyrell spoke first:  
“Lord Tywin, will you be so good as to tell these thugs to stop spouting nonsense regarding the arrest of my grandchildren?”  
Tywin addressed the two men:  
“You will leave now. Disregard what the Queen told you – she is distraught in her grief for her son.”  
The knights exited, and Tywin faced the Tyrells. Olenna smiled crookedly at him.  
“I am pleased to see you so well recovered, my Lord.”  
“I thank you for your concern, Lady Olenna. I will leave you now: there are many arrangements to be made.”  
“Lord Tywin, what is the news of the rest of your family? Are your son and daughter recovered?”  
The Old Lion’s eyes swept over Margaery appraisingly, and she felt her heart hammering, but she had to know if Tyrion was well.  
“They are still confined to their rooms, but they are not in danger.”  
It took all her self-possession not to collapse in relief.   
“I am glad you have been spared further grief, my Lord,” said she.  
Tywin stared at her impassively.  
“I am sorry for your loss, Lady Margaery.”  
She looked down and sighed – a picture of grief. She was sure it did not fool him for a moment, but that did not mean it was not expected of her. She heard the Hand speak again:  
“I have told the guards to stand down, there is no reason why people may not move freely around the keep. Grand Maester Pycelle has examined the King’s body and has the remains of the wine and food from the table. He will soon be in a position to determine what caused King Joffrey’s death. I will send you word when arrangements for the funeral have been made.” He gave a curt nod and left.

When the meal was finished, Loras stood.   
“I am going to the training ground. I have been cooped up in here too long. Marge, would you like to accompany me?”   
Margaery was desperate for fresh air and gladly acquiesced, thinking she could walk to the grounds with him then make her way to the gardens. Olenna eyed her.  
“Child, I know you are keen to step outside, but I ask that you humour your grandmother on this occasion. It is a long while since we’ve played Cyvasse together.”

Margaery collected the board and laid it in front of them; she had no doubt her grandmother wished to discuss a different game altogether, and she gathered her thoughts.   
As they arranged their pieces, Olenna looked her in the eye.  
“So, despite there being no need to protect you from Joffrey, Loras still desires to take the white.”  
Margaery knew this. Loras had made it quite clear several times over the last few days. She remained silent, and Olenna spoke again:  
“I have no doubt Tywin Lannister will ensure Tommen appoints him as quickly as possible! If your brother was not an impetuous fool, we could have freed him from Cersei with the letter to the Florent boy alone! This way Tywin ensures that Loras marries no other.”   
“I think that may be for the best, grandmother: he will always be vulnerable if he takes a wife, and since he lost Renly, he is not as careful as he should be.”  
“He is a fool!”  
Margaery looked straight into her grandmother’s eyes. Not so long ago, she had been in complete agreement with Olenna concerning Loras’ attitude to marriage. Now, however, she found she had greater sympathy with her brother: “We cannot choose whom we love.”  
The queen of thorns smiled.   
“It is time to make your first move, child.”  
As Margaery moved her piece, her grandmother continued:  
“Of course, if Loras joins the Kingsguard, you will be the heir to Highgarden. We both know you would make a far better ruler than your brother, but you will need a husband and a son.”  
Margaery watched her grandmother make her move and frowned.  
“Yes, and if I was to be betrothed to Tommen, which is what we would propose, if I am to be Queen, it would be some time before the marriage could be consummated. Besides, I have no doubt Lord Tywin will declare himself regent. I do not think I would have much influence at all.” She moved a trebuchet away from her grandmother’s attack, and spoke, as if the idea had just occurred to her:  
“Tommen admires Loras very much, so I am sure that if he takes the white, Tommen would accept him as his sworn shield.”   
Margaery had in fact discussed this with Loras the previous day. Her brother was enthusiastic, being fond of the young king and realising the boy would need a more trustworthy protector than could be found amongst the current members of the Kingsguard.   
“What an excellent idea, child! I can see that this game is stimulating you greatly!” Her grandmother raised her eyebrows. “I understand you wrote to Sansa earlier this week.”  
“Yes, but do not worry: I wrote as if bereft at the loss of Joffrey.”  
“You are truly fond of the girl?”  
“I am, grandmother. We came to be great friends.”  
Margaery moved to take the elephant her grandmother had left exposed. Olenna spoke:  
“She may yet be your sister.”  
Margaery dropped the piece. She looked up at her grandmother, disarmed by her directness. Olenna gave her a crooked smile.  
“Come, Margery, you are not stupid – that quality is reserved for my other grandchild! You must be aware that Tywin is going to offer us Tyrion in place of Joffrey. You are quite right to say he will wish to have an unchecked hold over Tommen, and this way, he can do so and put a Lannister in Highgarden at the same time.”  
Margaery returned her eyes to the board and spoke in a considering tone. It was not easy to keep her voice even, but she was by no means a novice – at either of the games her grandmother was playing.  
“Lord Tyrion is extremely clever, grandmother: before we even met him, you yourself said there was more to him than meets the eye, and you were right. He is also fiercely loyal to those he loves. I know that he and Ser Jaime are very close – far closer to each other than either are to their sister or father. Tommen also thinks very highly of his uncle, and I have no doubt Tyrion’s position would be vastly improved in Tommen’s court.”   
All the while Margaery spoke, she forced herself to ignore the excitement bubbling within her at the thought that this may really be within her grasp. As she finished, her Grandmother smiled.  
“And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that you love him.”  
Margaery knew she would be a fool to try hiding this from Olenna.  
“Yes, I do. But I know we wanted me to be Queen – ”   
Her grandmother waved her hand impatiently.  
“None of that, child! I am not Tywin Lannister! I tend to think that forcing one’s children into situations that make them hate you will lead you into trouble sooner or later. But, Margaery, this is an important decision. Tommen is not his brother, thank the Gods. If you wed him, you will have to battle the Lannisters, but I have no doubt that your influence will grow over time: you’re very good, better than I was at your age. At the same time, if your heart is not in it, I think we would all be far better off to abandon things.”  
Margaery understood the unspoken truth. She had already placed herself and Tyrion at risk with the way she had behaved; what greater risks would they both be tempted to take without the very visible threat of Joffrey? It did not matter, anyway – even if she could have been guaranteed she could take him as her lover and never be caught, she would still have felt unsatisfied. She wanted all of him, and she wanted to give him all of her.  
Her grandmother spoke once more:  
“I was supposed to marry a Targaryen, you know.”  
Margaery looked up in surprise. Her grandmother smiled.  
“I took matters into my own hands. At the time, my mother thought it a foolish move. It is worth remembering how easily crowns can fall.”   
This called to Margery’s mind her concerns regarding her grandmother’s involvement in Joffrey’s demise. Before she could ask, her grandmother spoke again:  
“Oh, and I did not poison Joffrey: I had plans to, but someone beat me to it.”  
“You had plans to…?”  
“Of course! He was a revolting little bastard, and I had no intention of allowing him to lay hands on you.”  
Margaery looked at her formidable grandmother and smiled.   
“You truly do not mind if I am not the Queen? What of father?”  
Olenna waved her hand dismissively.  
“Do not worry about him: within five minutes, I will have convinced him it was all his idea. As for me: well, I must be going soft in my old age.”  
Margaery rose from her seat and embraced the Queen of Thorns, fully aware she was the only person who would be permitted to do so, even in a situation such as this.   
“I promise this will be for the best: he’s a wonderful man, truly he is.”  
“Truly, he better be, for his sake more than yours! Now, please remove your arms from my neck, child, and let us finish the game!”  
Margaery returned to her seat, and they played on. Initially, she felt she could have hugged herself with glee. To think that in the morning she had feared Tyrion would die, and now she was to be his wife! However, this thought gave her pause; she may be sure that this was what she wanted, but what of Tyrion? Perhaps, he would not respond well to being made a part of his father’s schemes. He had told her that he trusted her integrity now, but did he, really? She pushed the thoughts aside; she was free of Joffrey and was to be betrothed to the man she loved. For now, other concerns could wait. Margaery Tyrell had never been afraid to fight for what she wanted, and now that the grim specter of a marriage to Joffrey had been removed, she felt her natural belief in herself return. As she moved her pieces across the board and watched her Grandmother, she found it impossible to keep her mind from wandering. Imaginings of a life with Tyrion at her side came to her head, and she could not help but smile, as she reflected they seemed infinitely more appealing than any pictures of herself as a Baratheon queen.


	29. Assuming the Worst

Tyrion desperately wanted some wine. Mytus had been adamant that he only drink water whilst the antidote took effect, in order to keep fluids in his body. For the first few days, Tyrion had been too ill to care; but now he was recovered enough to eat, he felt dissatisfied with nothing but water to accompany his meals. 

The days immediately after the fateful dinner had passed in a blur. He was sure that by now, he must owe Podrick a wardenship for all the lad had suffered ministering to him. Once Tyrion’s head had stopped spinning, he asked Podrick to fetch Varys for him. The eunuch came to him with his usual enigmatic smile.   
“I am glad to see you are so recovered, Lord Tyrion – it appears you are very hard to kill.”  
“Do you know who was trying to this time, Spider?”  
“Now, that is quite a tale. Directly after the King’s death was announced, all the talk was of a mass poisoning of the Lannisters. More than one of my little birds reported that Oberyn Martell had been seen walking through the tower of the Hand by himself earlier in the day. Of course, all know the Red Viper’s reputation when it comes to poison. Yesterday, your sister was sufficiently recovered to send two members of the Kingsguard to arrest Loras and Margaery Tyrell.”

It was the news Tyrion had dreaded the most. He could not say what would be worse: Margaery being falsely accused and punished, or her actually having complicity in the plot, which had resulted in his own life being placed in danger. He kept his voice as neutral as he could:  
“On what grounds did my sister order their arrest?”  
“On the grounds that she is Queen and can do as she likes. It would appear there was no reason to suspect them of anything. Lord Tywin came personally to their chambers to prevent the arrest. There has been no further mention of poison since. Pycelle is examining the remains of what was eaten and drunk.”  
Tyrion nodded, taking in the information. At least, it seemed that Margaery was safe. If his father had acted so swiftly to prevent her and Loras from being removed to the black cells, he must be fairly confident the Tyrells were not to blame. He looked at Varys sharply.  
“What did you know about this Spider? The day of that dinner, you told me to watch how much I drank.”  
“And so you should, my lord, on most, if not all, days. I do not know the truth of what went on: sometimes things are better left unknown.”  
Varys bowed and left. 

Tyrion sat in his chambers and digested the eunuch’s words . He wondered if Pycelle would try to frame him for Joff’s death; he still had a score to settle with Tyrion for the time he had spent in the cells whilst Tyrion was Hand. He pondered what Varys had said about Oberyn Martell, remembering that the Dornishman had told him he had an audience with Tywin that day. While Tyrion was sure there were a number of people who would have taken Joff’s life without regret, he was not sure the Red Viper was one of them. He had the impression Oberyn focused on those who had wronged him directly. _Of course, this presupposes Joff was the intended target._  
Tyrion did not, even for a second, mourn his nephew’s demise, but he felt pity for Tommen because of the heavy burden which would now fall on his shoulders. _Still, he will have a strong queen by his side._ Tyrion was glad at least that Margaery would be free from Joffrey’s evil clutches. True, Tommen was only a boy, and young for his years, but he was kind and would care for her. Perhaps, he would grow to be as handsome as his father…Tyrion wondered if he could persuade Tywin to send him to Casterly Rock, after all. Margaery would have no need of his protection now, and he felt sure he could not bear to see her every day, knowing that she would never be his. 

“I’ve brought you some food, Lord Tyrion.”  
“Then, be a good fellow, and bring me some wine to go with it, Pod- that’s an order.”  
Tyrion raised his eyebrows when the youth looked as if he was going to protest. Pod paused for a moment, but did as Tyrion had asked. Tyrion took a deep drink and sighed appreciatively. It was only then that he realised his squire was still hovering.  
“Your father sent word, my lord: there is a small council meeting later.”  
“Is there indeed? Was that it – no tender inquiry for my welfare? No vehement thanks for my continued safety?”  
Pod did not reply. In truth, Tyrion was amenable to a meeting with his father: it was his best chance of getting some answers to his questions. He felt less enthusiastic when he pondered the likelihood of Cersei also being present. _She must truly hate the Tyrells, if she was ready to accuse them before me._ However, Tyrion was in no doubt that with Margaery and Loras removed as a target, it would not be long before Cersei had him in her sights. He felt a fleeting pang of guilt: he knew that she would be suffering, for whatever else Cersei was, she did love her children. Then, he remembered she had already tried to kill him once, and his heart hardened. 

When Tyrion entered the Small Council chamber, Pycelle, Varys, and Oberyn were already present. The Dornishman rose, walked to him, and clapped him on the back.   
“Good to see you, my little friend! And looking hale and hearty, thank the Gods!”   
Tyrion noted Pycelle’s sour expression during the Red Viper’s exclamations, and derived some small satisfaction from the Grand Maester’s displeasure. Before he could respond to Oberyn, Tywin Lannister strode in and took his seat at the head of the table.   
“As we are all here, I shall begin. The first matter we need to discuss is the acknowledgment of King Tommen as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. This evening, all nobles present will come to the throne room to swear fealty to him. The others will send their acknowledgement and swear fealty when the time comes. Prince Oberyn, I assume you are in a position to represent your brother in this matter.”  
The Dornishman inclined his head, a smile playing on his lips.   
“Your assumption is correct, my lord. Of course, were we following Dornish law, King Joffrey would be succeeded by his sister Myrcella, and my nephew would be crowned king when they married.”   
Tyrion watched as his father and the Red Viper locked eyes. He had no doubt that Oberyn had made the statement purely to rile Tywin up, and this further convinced him that the Dornishman had played no part in Joffrey’s death. _He may be bold, but he is not a fool._ After a moment, Tywin spoke in a neutral tone:   
“This is not Dorne.”   
Oberyn’s smile widened.   
“No, it is not.”  
Tywin continued, as if nothing had happened.  
“King Joffrey’s funeral will take place two days hence; the coronation of King Tommen the day after.”  
“And will the king’s mother be present at either of these events? I am surprised she is not here today.”   
The Red Viper spoke once more, voicing Tyrion’s own thoughts. Tywin’s face betrayed nothing.  
“My daughter is no longer regent, therefore she has no place on this council. In addition, she is deranged with grief and is currently confined to her chambers. She will be at her son’s funeral but will require a considerable escort.”  
Tyrion took in the meaning of his father’s words. Cersei was not to be trusted after her attempt to arrest Loras and Margaery. At least, it seemed she would not be in a position to try and incriminate him in his nephew’s death. He looked to his father.  
“So, who is to be Tommen’s regent if my sister is not reprising the role?”  
“King Tommen has named me his regent.” Tywin replied, doubtlessly surprising no one in the room. _Come now, father, regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Jaime at Casterley Rock with a babe in his wife’s belly, what will it take to make you smile?_  
Pycelle had begun some fawning speech about the wisdom of the choice, when Tywin cut him off and asked that he inform the council of his conclusions concerning the cause of Joffrey’s death. In his self-important and pedantic way, the Grand Maester indicated that he had examined the King’s body, as well as the remains of the food and wine consumed by all those at the dinner table.   
“There were no detectable traces of any poison. However, when I examined the remains of the soup, I found evidence of some spoiling. Having further discussed this with the kitchens, I would conclude that some meat, which should have been disposed of, was used in the soup stock in error. I can only assume this was due to the increased pressure on kitchen staff due to court having been full so near to the royal wedding. All those who dined with the king that night suffered some ill effects, it was simply that King Joffrey had a peculiar sensitivity.”   
_Oh yes, Joffrey was always peculiar._ Tyrion noted the sceptical expression on Varys’ face, before being startled by the sound of a thump on the table: all turned to Prince Oberyn, who was glaring at Tywin.   
“If the cause was bad meat, why was it necessary to search the apartments of myself and Ellaria?” Tywin made no move to apologise:   
“Precautions were necessary until we had ascertained the cause of death: you are well known for your expertise in poisons, my prince, and, of course, you had nothing to hide.”   
The Red Viper remained silent, but his eyes blazed.   
“This concludes the business of the meeting. Tyrion, you will remain.”   
The other three left, and Tyrion was alone with his father. He looked around ostentatiously for a jug of wine.   
“Have we nothing to drink, father?”  
“I thought at our last dinner you had lost the taste for it.” Tywin’s voice was steely.   
“As did I, father; clearly, it was simply the spoilt meat in the soup.”  
“Tyrion, can you tell me why you informed the Tyrells that Cersei was plotting with the Florents?”  
He felt as if the ground had been pulled from under him. He arranged his features into an expression of innocent confusion.  
“Cersei has been plotting with the Florents? But I was under the impression they were allies of Stannis Baratheon. Well, she won’t endear herself to her new in-laws with that sort of behaviour.”  
“Do not play the fool with me. I see that, once again, you have put your own petty squabbles and grasping nature before your loyalty to your house.”  
“And where would our house have been, had she succeeded in murdering Loras Tyrell?”   
Too late Tyrion realised he had admitted his guilt. Tywin eyed him with contempt.   
“You will not fail me again. Loras Tyrell is to be sworn to the Kingsguard, following Tommen’s coronation. Margaery will be the heir to Highgarden, and you will marry her.”  
Tyrion thought for a a moment he must have misheard. His father’s face wore its usual grim expression and he appeared unmoved by the incredulity which was evident on his younger son’s countenance. After a moment Tyrion had gathered his wits enough to ask:  
“What of Tommen? Surely, the Tyrells will expect him to be offered as a replacement for Joffrey?”  
“Tommen is a child. If he was to marry anyone, we would have to obtain permission from the High Septon. I discussed the matter with Lord Mace and his mother this morning. They appreciate that any petition could be subject to lengthy delays and may be refused. In addition to this, his grace will not be in a position to consummate a marriage for some years. Tommen’s first-born son will be heir to the throne, and his second Lord of the Stormlands. The Reach would be left in a precarious position for some years, were Margaery to marry Tommen. They are in favour of this match.” 

Tyrion looked at his father, his mind working fevershly. He was fully aware that any petition to the High Septon would be a formality for Tywin Lannister, unless, of course, the Hand wished it to be a long drawn out process. Furthermore, the issue of a male heir seemed something of a moot point; with the backing of the crown, the Tyrells’ position in the Reach was unlikely to be challenged, and although Margaery was older than Tommen, she was not yet twenty and would have many years to bear children. No, the more he thought about it, the more the explanation became obvious - Joffrey’s death had been the result of a Tyrell plot. He had no doubt this was why Loras was being called to the Kingsguard. The loss of their heir and the acceptance of a Lannister in Highgarden was likely the price for their heads.   
He could have voiced countless objections, but he remembered what he had told Jaime when he and Sansa had been betrothed: _you will marry her, because Tywin Lannister wills it._ Of course, Jaime and Sansa were now happy. But he was not Jaime. He nodded to his father.   
“Very well, I shall await your further instructions on the matter.” Then, he scrambled from his seat and left. 

On returning to his chambers, Tyrion had summoned Podrick, Bronn, and a number of flagons of wine. As he drank, he became increasingly morose regarding his situation. Bronn eyed him unsympathetically.   
“I would love to know how on earth you’re managing to feel miserable about this! That girl has been after you for months! Don’t forget I saw the pair of you at yer brother’s wedding. Not only that, you’ll be Lord of the Reach! And on top of that, she’s a beauty, and, unlike most of these highborn maids, she looks as if she knows how to wear a man out in the sack.”  
“Bronn! Do not speak that way about my – ”  
Tyrion paused. He could not bring himself to call her ‘his betrothed’. How could his father have found yet another way to hurt and punish him, simply for being born?  
Bronn threw him another unimpressed glance.   
“Well I ain’t about to sit around here, sympathising with you about how awful it is that you’re getting to marry the richest heiress in the Seven Kingdoms. I only hope you’ll find time in between all the fucking to remember your friends.”  
The sellsword stood and made his way to the door. Podrick also rose to his feet and began to clear the goblets from the table. He stood by Tyrion for a second and several times seemed about to speak.  
“What is it, Podrick?”  
“Well, my Lord, it’s just that her handmaiden, umm… That is, Lady Margery’s handmaiden, well, she told me the lady often speaks of you – Lady Margaery, that is – and thinks highly of you. You’re a good man, Lord Tyrion, you deserve to be happy.”  
Podrick was bright red by the end of this short speech, and Tyrion was incredibly moved. He grasped the boy’s arm.  
“Podrick Payne, there never was a more noble squire.”  
Podrick blushed even deeper, turning almost purple. He clumsily continued to clear the table. 

Tyrion looked down into his own goblet. At first, he had been convinced that Margaery herself must have been party to the plot. He imagined, with grim masochism, her complete disregard for himself and that he, too, may have died. _I’m just a funny little man. I’ve never mattered that much to anyone, really. Not enough for them to care what happens to me._ This train of thought gave him pause. He thought of how Jaime had ensured he received proper treatment after the Battle of Blackwater, despite incurring the disapproval of Tywin and the wrath of Cersei. He thought about the estrangement between his siblings, which, he knew, had been just as much about Cersei’s attempt to kill him as it had been her infidelity. His mind turned to Sansa, who had told him she was proud to call him her brother and who had forgiven him for participating in the deception about Joffrey’s true parentage. He believed that he did matter to Jaime and Sansa, and, if he could believe that, could he not believe that Margaery at least thought enough about him not to place him in harm’s way? The more he reflected on this, the more likely it seemed that Olenna had acted without her granddaughter’s knowledge. This eased his anguish somewhat. After all, there were not many people whom he would have placed in the Stranger’s path, but that did not mean he wished to marry them all. _There is but one woman I would take to wife... Gods, what a jape this is!_

 

He thought of Jaime and wondered what his brother would tell him if he were here. He smiled as he reflected that there was no doubt what Sansa would have had to say on the matter. He thought of his disastrous first marriage, his ever-present doubts regarding Shae. She had told him he was scared, and she had been right. Now, he was more scared still. At least with Shae, he knew he could provide for her materially, give her things she would have been unlikely to gain elsewhere. With Margaery, he had absolutely nothing to offer, but himself, and he doubted this was a sufficiently high prize for her.

He was aware that, from a logical point of view, he should simply be happy with the situation he found himself in. Earlier that day, he had despaired at the thought that Margaery would wed Tommen; now, she was to be his bride. Even if he had not been in love with her, the fact that this marriage also brought him Highgarden should have been enough in itself to satisfy him. But he was in love with her, and he felt keenly that he only wanted to marry her if she loved him, too. The idea of her entering into their union with reluctance and under duress was abhorrent to him. He sighed and swallowed the last of his wine. He would be able to discuss the matter with her soon enough; perhaps, if he drank enough wine, he could at least dream tonight that she wanted to be his wife as much as he wanted to have her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's bookmarked, left kudos or commented. 
> 
> Slightly geeky aside: when I wrote Oberyn's comment about Trystane being crowned king, my beta opined that he would in fact be prince consort. I know this would be the case in Britain, the Queen's husband is Prince Phillip not King Phillip but I was under the impression that in Westeros the husband of the Queen was the King; mainly due to reading fics where this is the case. If anyone knows better, feel free to correct me and I will edit the chapter :)


	30. Build Your House Upon a Rock

Sansa stood in the stone Godswood, her dry eyes on the statue of the family of wolves. At this early hour of the morning, the air still had a slight bite to it. She generally used the very beginning of the day to make visits to this place, not wishing to appear to mourn her family too publicly. That was not to say that she came simply to mourn, although often she would, sitting before the statue and letting the tears stream down her face unchecked. Her grief was still raw, but, already, there were brief times when she would think on the happy family she had grown up with. Other times, like today, she felt confusion and anger. 

After her arrival at Casterly Rock, Sansa felt for the first time since her childhood that the pace of her life had slowed. The difference was that, as a little girl, she had chafed at this pace, but here she adored it. She was free from pain and panic and had time to breathe, and think, and be. She was living, rather than simply surviving. However, this contentment came at a price. Even in King’s Landing, Sansa had felt betrayed by Robb; now, on occasion, these feelings extended to her parents. Why had they not prepared her better for life at court? Margery’s family had made efforts to discover what Joffrey was truly like, but the Starks had seen first hand Joffrey’s nature. Sansa felt particularly let down by her father, and she wondered if this was because she had shouldered such blame for his death in her mind. She could see now that she was free from the constant abuse that had reinforced her self-loathing, that her father’s fate had been sealed regardless of her own actions. For so long, she had berated herself for asking him not to break her betrothal, but now she wondered why he had not done so himself, much sooner? He had been aware of what Joffrey was like from Lady’s death. When he sought to break her betrothal to Joffrey, he had not told her the true reason why this was. She understood he meant to protect her by this omission, but he had failed. Sansa felt very strongly that her family had placed her in a position where she needed to protect herself, but her upbringing had ensured that she had no means to do so; the realisation stung. Often, her thoughts would turn to Jaime, and what her family would have said about the marriage. They would not have cared that she was happy, that he loved her, and that she loved him. They would simply see him as the dishonourable Kingslayer – the man who, she knew now, had saved the city but whom her own father had shamed.When these thoughts were upon her, Sansa could have screamed with rage, but the rage would burn itself out and be replaced with sadness. She knew her mother and father had loved her and that they had felt they had been acting in her best interests. She could not truly judge them harshly when she recognised that her own actions, while not as terrible as she had sometimes believed, could easily be reproached. She still felt a tickle of shame when she thought of Bran – she wondered if at some point before his death he had remembered the cause of his fall. During the journey to Casterly Rock, she had asked Jaime if her mother had in fact been right about Tyrion when she had taken him captive (because the only reason Sansa could ever imagine Tyrion hurting a child was if it would protect Jaime). It was the closest her husband had ever come to being angry with her. Admittedly, he had not come very close, but his eyes had narrowed as he looked at her, and his voice had been harsh when he had spoken:  
“Of course, he did not! Tyrion had nothing to do with any of it – he has more honour than the rest of our family put together!”  
Sansa had known it to be the truth, and she had felt sorry for doubting her friend. But she understood well now the difficult choices one could be faced with when it came to those one loved. Sansa sighed: she would not trade her life with Jaime for anything, but she could not deny there was a burden in the realisation that the world was not black and white, and that the people in it were not wholly bad or good – this was a notion she had tended to cling to even during her time as a prisoner in King’s Landing. 

She exited the Godswood and made her way back to her bed chamber. Jaime had acquired the habit of training in the early mornings, but she was sure he would have returned by now and was likely washing. He always came back so they could break their fast together, often they made love at this time too, particularly if he returned and found her still abed. However, when she had been to the Godswood, she rarely felt like making love, and he was understanding of this. 

She opened the chamber door and could hear the sounds of water splashing from the side room. A handmaiden was laying out breakfast and paused to dip a courtesy as Sansa sat down at the table. Her sickness was mercifully absent and her appetite seemed to have increased tenfold. She sat down and picked up a boiled egg, which she began to peel. The handmaid poured her some tea then dipped another courtesy.  
“Please, m’lady, this arrived for you this morning.”  
“Thank you, you may go now.”  
Sansa smiled at the young girl and picked up the letter she had deposited on the table. It bore the Tyrell seal, and she recognised her friend’s writing. She opened it and was about to read its contents, when Jaime emerged from his ablutions running his hands through his hair.   
“Good morning, my darling wife.”  
He grinned at her, and she was temporarily distracted by his shirtless state. She had persuaded him to grow his hair again, and it was already beginning to fall across his forehead, particularly when wet. Despite her trip to the Godswood, that morning she was drinking in the site of him and could imagine pushing him straight to bed. However, he had noticed the letter she held in her hands and his face became worried.  
“What have you there? More news from King’s Landing?”  
“Oh yes, it is a letter from Lady Margaery. I have not yet had a chance to read it.”  
Sansa scanned the letter, and Jaime watched as her pretty face displayed increasing surprise and bafflement.   
“Well, wife, what has she to say?”  
She looked at him with bewilderment.  
“She informs me of the King’s death and her sorrow regarding it. She appears near distraught, she says she may have lost the only man she has ever loved.”  
“That seems something of an overreaction.” Jaime gestured for the letter, which he read with his eyebrows raised.  
“His compassion, his cleverness how he always seemed to know exactly what to say… Is she even talking of Joffrey?”  
The question caused something to fall into place in Sansa’s mind, she grabbed the letter back unceremoniously and scanned it quickly, before turning to Jaime with shining eyes.  
“No, she is not! Jaime, I feel sure she is talking of Tyrion!”  
“Tyrion?!” Jaime was nonplussed but this only served to strengthen Sansa’s reaction.  
“Yes! Who else could it be? Why would she bother to write at all? Of course, she will have to play the grieving fiancé of Joff, but she did not love him. I really do not see that she would have to go to the length of sending a letter like this to me. She is writing because she is worried for Tyrion. Jaime, when I think on it now, she often spoke of him, far more than anyone else, and, on occasion, when I saw them together, there was something… Do you think they have been involved in some way?”  
Jaime shook his head.   
“No! It would be far too dangerous.” He frowned. “The night she came to see you in your chamber, it was Tyrion who suggested we call her, he certainly thinks highly of her.”  
Sansa sensed his discomfort, and sought to reassure him.   
“Jaime, regardless of whether there is anything between Tyrion and Margaery, I am sure he would never poison Joff. Or, for that matter, Cersei or Tywin.”  
“I know that, Sansa, but what of the Tyrells?”  
“I am certain Margaery would not. Her grandmother…” Sansa paused. She was uncertain what Olenna was capable of, but she felt very sure the woman was a force to be reckoned with. Despite the worry that engulfed them when the events in the capital were called to mind, she could not help but smile. Jaime looked at her with fond exasperation.  
“Sansa, do not tell me this revelation pleases you?”  
“Why not? They would make an excellent match.”  
Jaime shook his head.   
“Whether they do or not is hardly the point! We do not know yet what really happened in King’s Landing – Tyrion could have been the target! Besides, my father is likely to offer Tommen as a replacement betrothal, and Margaery seemed very keen on becoming queen.”   
“It does not sound so from her letter… Oh Jaime, they would be so happy together… Just think we may end up with children of an age.”  
Jaime shook his head once more, but he had to admit his wife’s enthusiasm was infectious. If the sentiment in the letter Margaery had sent his wife was indeed intended for Tyrion, Jaime could not help but think it seemed his brother was finally close to having the love he deserved. However, he still had his doubts, which caused him to respond with sceptical amusement.  
“And there was I thinking that you’d put tales of courtly love behind you.”  
She smiled at him with an affectionate look in her eyes.  
“I have a life filled with love, Jaime Lannister, why would I not want the same for others I care about?”  
He did not vocalise the delight her felt at her words, but it was evident in the way his green eyes sparkled. They gazed fondly at each other for several moments. Then he was reminded that she must have only just sat down to breakfast and felt that he really ought to ensure that she had enough to eat. He ran his hand over hers gently.  
“Let us finish breaking our fast. What do you intend to do today, my lady? I sincerely hope after all your gallivanting yesterday, ‘very little’ will be your answer.”  
Sansa smiled at her husband and rolled her eyes. She knew his concern was an expression of his love for her and also that he was anxious about her pregnancy. She would never wish to exacerbate his worries, but she felt the best way to reassure him was to downplay the fears, and, truthfully, she felt fine, once her stomach had settled at last. The day before, she had ventured to Lannisport with his cousins. Her pregnancy was beginning to show itself in her figure, and she needed new gowns. Several of the best dressmakers in Lannisport had been called to the Rock and were clearly eager for her patronage, divulging plans for copious lavish gowns and fawning eagerly on her for her suggestions. As a girl at Winterfell, Sansa would have dreamed of such things. However, as with many of her childish dreams she found the reality less appealing. In truth, she derived more pleasure from the thought of creating her own dresses. Of course, she understood her position as Jaime’s wife meant patronage of the tradespeople was expected and she had commissioned several gowns. However, the pervious day she had arranged to go to Lannisport to purchase material to make some dresses for herself. Although she could have asked the drapers to attend her at the Rock with a selection of their wares, Sansa had chosen to go the city for several reasons. Firstly, she knew that not just the household at the Rock but many in the Westerlands had cause to curse the Stark name. She had seen in King’s Landing how Margaery had gained the love of the small folk by walking among them and sought to emulate this in her own lands. At the same time, she also wanted to enjoy the freedom and safety she had here, which had been so absent in the capital. Once her father was thrown in cells, she had been a virtual prisoner in the Red Keep and here she wanted to make the most of her ability to move with relative freedom. She had enjoyed the trip immensely. Lannisport was very different from King’s Landing, and after her initial nervousness had subsided, she had felt happy and comfortable there.  
“I will have you know that I found the sea air thoroughly rejuvenating, husband. However, I do have a quiet day ahead of me. I will meet with your aunt and cousins after breakfast and spend the morning sewing, and this afternoon I will review the household accounts.”  
“You seem to have overlooked something, my love: I did not hear you say at any point what time you planned on taking me to bed.”  
“Yes, because I will not be doing so. Kevan told you he wished you to accompany him to Lannisport today to determine the repairs necessary for the harbour fortifications.”  
He sighed dramatically, but his eyes were alight with humour. Jaime found great enjoyment in giving Sansa the impression he was looking to shirk his duties. It was true that the role his father and uncle expected him to play was one he had abandoned in his teenage years and not one he had a great deal of experience of. However, just as the Kingsguard had been nothing like he had envisaged it, so was his life at Casterly Rock. Happily, where the former had been a disappointment, the latter was a pleasant surprise. After years of staring at the empty pages of the white book, here he was gratified to see the impact he had on people’s lives on a daily basis. Of course, plenty of it was tedious and there was a weight of responsibility, but there was satisfaction, too.   
“As always you are right, sweet Sansa, to Lannisport I shall go. Just see that you say nothing of this letter from Margaery to anyone: remember, we do not know what is behind all of this.”  
They had finished their meal and risen from their seats as he made this remark. Sansa raised her eyebrows.  
“I assure you my lips are sealed, good ser.”  
She then ran her tongue over said lips grinning as he stepped beside her and pulled her to him.  
“If that was supposed to be a formal reprimand, it failed miserably: I know you adore thinking of me as a gallant knight.”  
“You are a gallant knight. You're my gallant champion, good ser," she had titled her head and moved closer to him, their lips almost touching at her last word, but then she pushed away from him, her eyes alight with mischief. “That does not change the fact if we do not leave now, we are going to be late!”  
She moved to the door and opened it, turning to give him a mocking smile as she left. 

Her mood much lighter than it had been before their meal, Sansa made her way to a large solar where she was to meet Jaime’s aunt and cousins. Myrelle and Cerenna greeted her warmly and began to chatter. Sansa was glad to have been received so warmly by both girls: she knew their father had died in battle against Robb. It transpired that the girls’ brother Daven, whom they both admired greatly had told them in no uncertain terms that women had no part in war.   
“What did you think of Lannisport, Sansa? Does it compare well with King’s Landing? Were the shops as fine? I should love to see the capital for myself! You are so well travelled, to think we are almost of an age, and yet I have never left the Westerlands!” Cerenna sighed. Sansa smiled at her kindly, thinking how strange it was to remember that, not very long ago, she, too, had longed to leave her home for the glamour of King’s Landing.   
“I can honestly tell you that Lannisport is far superior to King’s Landing in terms of its layout and its condition. It is also true that Casterly Rock is far finer than the Red Keep. Had I been born in the Westerlands, I would have no wish to leave it.”  
She could tell her words had pleased the girls as well as Kevan’s wife, Lady Dorna, who was sitting quietly. Sansa smiled at the older woman:  
“Lady Dorna, where is Janei today?”  
“She has accompanied Joy to the sea shore.”  
Sansa thought of little Joy Hill, the bastard of Jaime’s favourite uncle. Her husband was very fond of his little cousin, and Sansa could not help the pang in her heart when she had seen how much more easily affectionate he was with Joy than he had been with Tommen. _He does not need to hide his heart from her._  
Sansa passed a pleasant morning with the women; she enjoyed spending time with them, but she still missed Margaery. She wished she could have talked with her about everything that had happened in King’s Landing: one thing that was clear from her letter was that her friend was upset, and Sansa wished she could comfort her. 

After they had eaten lunch, Sansa took her leave of the women, stating she had to look over the accounts. Dorna smiled at her.  
“Sansa, I am more than happy to continue overseeing such matters.”  
“Thank you, Dorna, but I do not mind. I am sure you have missed Janei, and that you wish to spend some time with Lancel.”  
Dorna smiled at her gratefully. Her son was still at Casterly Rock: his wounds had healed well, and he was nearly restored to full health. Sansa had seen little of him, as the youth was determined to keep out of Jaime’s way.

Sansa made her way to her solar and sat down at her desk. She ran her eyes over the figures, using a quill and parchment to calculate whether everything was in order. It was slow work, as she had never been quick with figures. She thanked the gods once more for Tyrion and that he had seen to the resuming of her lessons when he was acting Hand. Sansa hoped fervently that he would recover; she told herself that lack of word he had died must be a good sign, Joffrey having expired almost immediately after the fateful dinner. She thought once more of Margaery’s letter and found herself more convinced than ever her friend was talking of Tyrion, and that she loved him. Now that she thought of it, she could call to mind one or two occasions when she had noticed the little lord with his eyes on Margaery, wearing a look that reminded Sansa of how Jaime looked at her sometimes. Sansa was not blind to the practical difficulties the pair would face, but they were both so clever, she felt sure that, with Joffrey gone, they would find a way to be together. 

Her mind had run away with these thoughts, and she was lost in a daydream, imaging herself walking arm in arm with Margaery along the beach at Casterly Rock, whilst Jaime and Tyrion capered around in the shallows with a tribe of Lannister children, when she heard a tut from behind her and turned to see her husband leaning in the doorway with a mock frown upon his face.

“Here I am returned from a day of diligent work in Lannisport to find you neglecting your account books to stare into space.”  
She rose and went to him, placing her arms around his neck.  
“Did you have to work very hard, my love?’  
“I did. However, I also found the time to collect this: I think it may be to your liking.”  
He smiled at her disarmingly and handed her a small box. She opened it and gasped. Inside was a necklace. It had a delicate golden chain, with other chains looping off it. Attaching each of these to the original was a round amethyst with smaller square amethysts dotted along the chains. In the centre, a slightly thicker chain descended with the largest purple stone and three smaller ones trailing off it. She had admired that very necklace in a jewellers shop in Lannisport the day before, and it became obvious now why Jaime’s cousins had been so insistent that they perused the shop’s wares.   
“And what would you have done if I had told your cousins I preferred one of the others?”   
There had been four different necklaces on display. Jaime smirked.  
“Why I would have brought you whichever one you preferred: I did have them all commissioned for you, so there would be a good choice.”  
He grinned at her surprise, and motioned for her to allow him to fasten the necklace on. Once it was around her neck, she turned, and he smiled.  
“Not quite as beautiful as the sparkle of your eyes, my sweet Sansa, but a pretty trinket nonetheless. Now seeing as I have been diligent and dutiful, do you think you could abandon those ledgers, which I have observed you ignoring for the last five minutes anyway, and take me to your bed?”  
As his wife put her arms around him and met his lips with hers, he was fairly confident he had his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented.  
> The title of this chapter comes from the biblical story of the wise man who built his house upon a rock: this took effort but unlike the foolish man who build his house upon sand, the house of the rock had strong foundations and could weather storms. In this chapter I have tried to show Sansa and to a lesser extent Jaime working to build strong foundations for their marriage and for their respective positions in the West. Also more JS fluff but surely that's no bad thing??? : )


	31. Happy Together

Margaery stood in the throne room, watching Tommen sit on the Iron throne as the High Septon placed the crown upon his head. Memories of Joffrey’s funeral rose before her eyes. She had walked to his corpse with a sorry look on her face and placed a hand just above his head; she was the perfect picture of grief she did not feel. Cersei had been present, and Margaery had wondered whether the woman would use the occasion to call for her arrest once again. However, there had been no such scene, although Cersei’s hollow eyes and unnaturally blank expression had indicated an unhinged grief. The woman had several guards around her, and she had not said a word to Margaery. There had been an ugly scene with Loras the night before. Cersei had seemingly not been aware Margaery’s brother was to take the white, and when she was informed of this by her son in front of Loras, she made her displeasure clear. Margaery’s brother had informed her Cersei demanded that Tommen always have four Kingsguards with him for protection, but that Lord Tywin had vetoed this, stating firmly that since Joffrey’s death was an accident, Tommen was not in danger. 

Margaery cast her eyes around the room, her breath catching slightly as she noticed Tyrion. She had not seen him or communicated with him since Joffrey’s death. Almost as soon as her eyes were on him, he glanced at her, before looking away quickly, but then glancing again. The second time she caught his eye, she raised her eyebrows and smiled. _You better get used to the sight of me, Tyrion, I am to be your wife._ She was filled with joy at the thought. She looked at Tommen, the king who would never be hers, and at Cersei; they were the future that had passed her by, and it was all she could do not laugh with contented glee. 

The coronation drew to a close, and she was delighted to see Tyrion making his way toward her. She gave him a beaming smile and offered him her hand to kiss.  
“Lady Margaery, I trust you enjoyed the ceremony.”  
“I did, my Lord. It seems Tommen was born to sit upon the Iron Throne. Long may he reign.”  
“Indeed. I wonder if I may trouble you for a minute, my lady.”  
“I am sure it will be no trouble, my Lord.”  
She smiled at his slightly agitated demeanour and followed him into a corridor. Once they were away from the crowd, he looked at her with a serious expression.  
“Lady Margaery, I have no doubt you are aware of the discussions which have taken place between our families.”  
“I have been kept informed, Lord Tyrion,” she replied with good humour, but his face remained grave. He took her hand.  
“I feel sure that my lord father has no proof that your family was involved in Joffrey’s death. If you wish it, you could insist that he offer you Tommen as a husband, and he would not refuse.”  
Margaery looked at him, unable to believe what she had just heard. For an instant, she wondered if she had been mistaken in her belief that he cared for her at all. Then, anger overcame her. She thought back to the times he had pushed her away before: he had not simply been scared of putting her at risk, he had been scared to risk his heart. She had always admired his outspokenness and the way he did not seem to shy away from saying what he believed, and this made his timidity all the harder to bear. She looked at him scornfully.  
“Yes, you would like that, would you not? I wonder what you would do in that scenario? Stay in King’s Landing, ensuring you glared balefully at me every time I tried to make my life pleasant? Or drink yourself to death, all the while cursing me as the cause of your undoing? I can assure you, my Lord, you are the only one who seeks to set aside this betrothal.” With this, she swept away from him back to the Throne Room. 

Tyrion watched Margaery depart and cursed himself. Why could he not have simply told her he was happy? It was clear from the way she had greeted him that she was amendable to their marriage: this should have been enough for him. It was already far more than he could rationally hope for from a woman he saw as without equals. He ran his hand over his face and made his way back to the Throne Room, intending to find her and make some sort of apology. The room had emptied, and it did not take much looking for him to determine she was not there, so he decided to head towards the Tyrell apartments, when a sharp voice stopped him.  
“Lord Tyrion! It seems, both my grandchildren have deserted me: I hope I can rely on you to escort me to the gardens.”  
He forced a smile at the sight of the Tyrell matriarch.  
“It would be my pleasure, Lady Olenna.”  
“I highly doubt that! However, it is your obligation, seeing as we are soon to be family.”  
Faced with her piercing gaze, Tyrion did not dare voice any doubts regarding this, though he could not help but reply:  
“I am sure this development displeases you greatly, my lady, given that I am, as one might say ‘heir to nothing.’ ”  
The Queen of Thorns smirked but did not contradict him.  
“I should have seen you coming, imp! You know, when she was a child, Margaery never wanted to hear tales of knights and maidens. All her cousins demanded I read Florian and Jonquil or other such rot! With her, it was the stories of Lann the Clever over and over: his deeds were all she wanted to hear of! I know you are fond of reminding everyone that Lannisters pay their debts: well, you owe me a large one for the heart of my granddaughter!”  
Tyrion looked at the old woman in bewilderment; clearly, she found his confusion amusing.  
“Oh, come! Did you really think the lions had cowed the roses? No! Your father needs house Tyrell, and he knows it.”  
“I had wondered, given the… Sudden nature of Joffrey’s death.”  
“Ah, I can assure you I had no hand in that, although I was not sorry to see him gone, and neither, I think, were you! I noticed you and Margaery making eyes at one another as far back as your brother’s wedding. But that night at the banquet, when she refused to join in Joffrey’s mocking of you, I knew we were in trouble. With your elder nephew out of the way, I had hoped she would still decide the crown was more appealing, but she was beside herself when it was not clear whether you would survive. Then, when your recovery was assured, she made it very clear to me what she wanted.”  
Tyrion’s heart leapt with an almost sickening elation. Margaery _wanted_ to marry him! She had done all she could to bring about their current situation, and he had allowed her to think he did not want her! If he had cursed himself before then, he felt he should be damned to the seventh hell now. It was a testament to the imposing presence of Olenna Tyrell that he did not simply abandon her and run straight to the chambers of her granddaughter. Instead, he replied in as neutral a tone as he could muster.  
“As far as my debt is concerned, I can assure you that I will do my utmost to be the kind of husband Lady Margaery deserves.”  
Olenna eyed him appraisingly.  
“Well, she won’t be bored at least! And, I must say, I am grateful she is to be spared my fate of marrying a fool!”  
The rest of their walk passed in silence. Tyrion escorted her to where her long-suffering ladies-in-waiting had placed her chair in the garden then took his leave, walking rapidly toward the Tyrell apartments. Away from Olenna and with time to think, he felt his doubts begin to return: it could be that the Queen of Thorns was trying to manipulate him, although he could not see why the old woman would care whether he thought Margaery loved him or not. Tyrion steeled himself: he had acknowledged some time ago that he loved Margaery more than he had ever loved anyone – now, he would have to overcome his doubts. He found himself at her door, murmuring, “those are brave men out there, now let’s go and kill them…” He knocked.

Margaery had left the hall and returned to her chambers, where she struggled to resist the urge to throw things. She wondered if she should have allowed Tyrion a chance to explain himself, or if she should have made things easier for him by expressing how she felt. She dismissed the idea: it was becoming clear to her that the little Lannister had some very deep-seated doubts, and whilst her heart ached for the man she loved, she also knew that _she_ could not chase his demons away from him anymore than she could have made Renly take an interest in women. If Tyrion truly wanted her, then he would have to claim her, and if he did not… Well, she could not bear to think of that. 

She heard a knock at the door, and even before her handmaiden had opened it, she knew it would be him. She took one look at him, and suddenly understood why Sansa had so often chosen to hide herself behind excessive formality. However, she was not a threatened captive, so instead, as he was shown in and her maid departed, she looked him straight in the eye and kept her head up.  
“Well, Tyrion?”  
He walked hurriedly to the chaise she was seated on and stood before her, taking one of her hands in both of his.  
“I must ask your forgiveness for what I said earlier, my lady. I like to think that I am no craven and have more wits than most, but when I spoke to you I behaved liked a frightened fool. I can give you no explanation that will excuse my behaviour, my love, all I can say is that this is so different from what I had imagined.”  
Margaery felt as if she had flown out of her body when she heard him refer to her as his “love,” with such an open, tender look on his face. She was aware, as had happened to her previously in his presence, that her natural eloquence had deserted her, and she could only find her voice to ask:  
“‘What you had imagined?’”  
He gave her an abashed smile, and she was certain she would melt.  
“Yes, my lady, you see, strictly between you and me, I have, on occasion, harboured rather ridiculous romantic notions, where you are concerned. At times, when I was able to suspend my disbelief enough to imagine finding myself betrothed to you, I had always envisaged a gallant and romantic courtship, which afforded me the opportunity to steal your heart.”  
Now she was smiling so widely that her face hurt. She leant towards him, placing her free hand on top of his.  
“As wonderful as that sounds, I am afraid there is nothing for you to steal. My heart already belongs to you, Tyrion Lannister. I think it has for quite some time.”  
He looked happier than she had ever seen him, and Margaery could not help the breathless giggle of pure joy which escaped her lips. She gazed into his wonderful green eyes, becoming aware after a moment that they kept straying to her lips, which she was unable to resist from biting playfully. She eased their clasped hands apart and began to stroke his arms, slowly reaching upwards; she gently pulled him closer and met his mouth in a kiss. 

Having her lips on his was even better than he had remembered. They had come to each other mouths open, and now their tongues were almost at war. When he had kissed her before, they had begun with some space between their bodies. but this time their torsos were flush. Her hands ran gently along his shoulders and neck, and he cupped her face in his palms. Soon, he became aware that she had leant back in her chair and he was not far off being atop her. He was sure that his arousal must be evident to her: he had wanted her, and only her, for a very long time now. But she was not a whore, and he had no intention of treating her like one. He allowed himself a few more blissful seconds before gently pushing away. Margaery gave a small hum of contentment and opened her eyes slowly.  
“You are a very good kisser, Tyrion.” Then her expression became coy. “Do you realise, that when you were talking before, you called me your ‘love?’”  
Tyrion had not been aware he had used that word, and for the first time since he had started speaking to her, he felt somewhat unsure; but he looked into her eyes, and what he saw in their hazel depths allowed him to muster his courage once more.  
“That’s because I am in love with you.”  
Her smile was as dazzling as ever, but there was a warmth to it that he had never seen before, or perhaps, he had seen it and convinced himself he had been deluded.  
“I love you too, Tyrion. Gods, I love you so much! When I came here I wanted to be the Queen. The more I knew of Joffrey, the more trying I realised my role would be; but it was knowing more of you that made me grow to hate the thought of being his queen. I have no wish to marry Tommen, and not because he is a boy – because of you. My family had nothing to do with Joffrey’s death, although, at first, I thought they might and much as I rejoice to be free of him, I would have been unable to think warmly of them ever again, if they had put you in harm’s way to free me. Truly, I never thought I could feel this way about any man.” Suddenly her smile faded. “Of course, you have been in love before…”  
He shook his head.  
“No, not like this. Margaery, I had resigned myself to staying here, seeing you wed Joffrey – torture though that would have been – for no reason than to do all I could to keep you safe. Had you asked me to flee with you, I would have done so without hesitation. I have never felt the way I feel about you. Margaery, I love you, and to have you as my wife will bring be more joy than I can say.”  
It felt incredible to finally tell her the truth of his heart, more so to know his feelings were reciprocated. He felt almost as if his small body could not contain the strength of emotion this knowledge had unleashed. He looked at her intensely then pulled her into another kiss, running his hands through her hair, down her neck and along the sides of her body. She responded enthusiastically, and when he felt her pull his hair ever so gently whilst allowing her teeth to graze his bottom lip, he knew he must stop if he truly wanted to be the gallant she deserved.  
He broke away from her and took a step back, a conflicted look upon his face.  
“I must take my leave of you now.”  
“Must you, darling? So soon?”  
She was deeply gratified to see the effect the endearment had on him and watched his internal battle with fond amusement. After a moment, he nodded resolutely and managed to give her a look which was both smouldering and imploring.  
“Margaery, I mean to do this properly.”  
“Properly?”  
“Yes. A gallant, romantic courtship, remember?”  
Although Margaery had more than half a mind to drop her gown and tell him to take her now, she could not deny that she was charmed by his sentiment. She smiled but rolled her eyes.  
“Very well, you may accompany me to a walk in the gardens on the morrow. Perhaps, you will even find some romantic verse to read me.”  
His expression became mischievous.  
“I think I shall tell you the tale of how my ancestors wrested our family seat from the Casterlys.”  
Maragery stared at him in surprise.  
“How did you…?”  
Tyrion winked cheekily.  
“I have my ways. You will see that I am prepared to go to great lengths to ensure you never get bored of me.”  
“I shall enjoy seeing the lengths you go to. But I do not think I can truly let you leave without one further kiss.”  
This time his face was not conflicted at all.  
“As my lady commands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented. Getting to this chapter was a major motivation for writing this fic in the first place so it would be really great to hear if people liked it ; )
> 
> Just incase anyone isn't familiar with Lann the Clever, he's the semi-mythic ancestor of the Lannisters. A lot of accounts say he was from the Reach and there are various different versions of the tale of how he took Casterly Rock from the Casterlys, not of all of which I think Olenna would have been telling the child Margaery although they are quite liberal in Highgarden... anyway I added him in here as I thought it was apt that even as a child Marge would be more enthralled by a cunning Lannister than a heroic knight. : )


	32. Letters to Casterly Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has followed, favourited or left kudos :)
> 
> My lovely beta is off to seek fortune and fame (or something along those lines). Of course I will be taking extra efforts to check my work but I apologise in advance for any misuse of punctuation which may creep in to this and subsequent chapters.

Jaime stood in the doorway, smiling as he observed his wife. Sansa was comparing several lengths of table cloth. Having indicated her preference, she turned to the steward and gave brief instructions regarding the purchase of the material before enquiring as to the kitchens’ capacity for cold storage. She appeared to be in her element and he could not help but feel proud of how quickly she had settled in to her role as de facto Lady of the Rock. 

Her discussion with the steward finished, she turned and smiled, noticing Jaime watching her. He frowned as she stifled a yawn behind her hand as she approached.  
“I hope you have not been doing too much, love.”  
Sansa grinned  
“Hardly, I have mainly been ordering people around.”  
“Best you get used to that now you are a Lannister.”  
Jaime would never have imagined saying such a thing in jest to his wife when they had first wed, but then there was very little about his relationship with Sansa that we would have imagined back then. 

Sansa smirked at her husband’s jape and replied with excited glee:  
“And soon Margaery shall be one too!”  
After several weeks with no further communication from the capital Jaime had received a raven from Lord Tywin several days ago. The missive began by informing him of the cause of Joffrey’s demise and the recovery of Jaime’s siblings. Tywin had then commanded that Kevan and Lancel depart for King’s Landing immediately. Jaime had seen almost nothing of his cousin since his return to the Rock and had little care to see him. Cersei was now irrelevant to his life and he had little interest in enacting brutal revenge for Lancel’s betrayal, however a betrayal it had been and Jaime certainly had no inclination to interact with the youth of friendly terms. He knew that Dorna had been deeply upset by the news of her son’s return to the place he had emerged from so damaged, and that Sansa had spent much time comforting her and trying to reassure her that no further harm would befall Lancel in the capital. 

It was the final part of his father’s message which had provoked the strongest reaction at the Rock and was the cause of the current flurry of activity - the reason Tywin had called Kevan to the capital was to act as Hand. He would undertake this role temporarily whilst Tywin returned to his family seat for Tyrion and Margaery’s wedding. While Sansa had been vociferous in her delight, Jaime’s own reaction was more guarded. He fervently hoped that Tyrion was about to enter into a marriage as happy as his own, but he knew better than anyone how little account his father took of his brother’s happiness.

Now as he looked at Sansa’s exuberant joy, he could not help but feel slight guilt and regret. He could see how much pleasure she was taking from making the arrangements for the upcoming nuptials, having no doubt that her friends would say their vows full of love, and Jaime was forced to recall how different their own wedding had been. In addition to this, seeing her so openly excited reminded him how young she was, a fact he often forgot in the face her self possession and maturity. When he had voiced these concerns Sansa had scoffed, pointing out her mother was only a year older when she became Lady of Winterfell. _Yes, but your mother had a long and sheltered childhood at Riverrun, you had your childhood stolen from you in King’s Landing._  
His morose reflections must have shown on his face for Sansa placed a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him.  
“Jaime! I know what you are brooding on! My love, I am happy, happier than I have ever been and it is all because of you.”  
She placed her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth, he could feel her fuller breasts and rounded stomach pressing against him and when they broke apart he murmured wickedly in her ear.  
“In that case, why do we not see if I can make you happier still?”  
His wife smiled and blushed, Jaime hoped that he would never lose the ability to bring colour to her beautiful face, he could tell from the way she glanced up at him she found the notion appealing but was conflicted by her awareness of their responsibilities.  
“Jaime, are you not required elsewhere? There may be ravens which require attention.”  
“The banqueting demands of Olenna Tyrell can wait.”  
“You would not say that to her face.” Sansa laughed and pushed him away as he made to kiss her.  
“Jaime! You have duties as do I!”  
Jaime briefly wondered why this typically Stark sense of proprietary seemed so endearing in his wife when it had always irritated him profoundly in her father. However a glance at her appealing figure gave him his answer.  
“Yes, my love, and I consider my duty to you as your husband to be of paramount importance. Surely you would not prevent me from fulfilling that duty?”  
His wife beamed at him and lightly shook her head, knowing that this meant she would no longer deny her willingness to join with him, he took her hand and lead her to their chambers. 

Once they were through the bedroom door her picked her up in his arms and carried her to their bed.  
She smiled and kissed him soundly. He placed her down very gently then lay down beside her on his side so they faced each other. They soon resumed their kissing and as he ran his hands through her luxuriant mane of red hair he was amused to note her hands were already on the buttons of his doublet.  
“You are very keen today, wife.”  
“Are you complaining? I could stop if you wish.”  
“I am sure you could but whether you would like to is another thing entirely.”  
As they bantered back and forth the were removing each other’s clothes, Sansa ran her hands across his muscular chest and stomach; an extremely satisfied expression on her face. She gently pushed him onto his back and moved to straddle his waist, he gazed up at her, transfixed by his wife’s beauty. Jaime adored the fact that her pregnancy was now evident, he could not help but run his hands over the swell of her stomach she looked more beautiful than ever and the knowledge that she would be the mother of his child was so unspeakably wonderful that it made his heart sing.  
“You are perfection, Sansa.”  
She smiled and flushed. Their gazes locked for a moment longer then she moved down beside him, turning her back to him and shooting him a provocative glance over her shoulder. He grinned in response and turned of his side putting his arms around her, running his hands over her breasts and squeezing gently.  
“Mmmm, Jaime!”  
She pressed herself into him, nearly writhing against him and he pushed his manhood into the small of her back, loving the feeling of their skin pressed together. After some minutes of this blissful torture Sansa moved away slightly and parted her legs allowing him to enter her. He rested one hand on her shoulder and slid the other one tenderly across her stomach and down towards the curls between her legs, stroking her bundle of nerves in a circular motion. She turned her head to him and gasped, pushing her buttocks further into his lap.  
“Oh Jaime I love you so much! Jaime, Jaime!”  
“Mmm Sansa I love you too, my Sansa!”  
They reached their climax and sated, were content to remain joined, Jaime lightly running the tips of his fingers over Sansa’s silky skin revelling in her occasional hums of contentment. 

Sansa supposed they must have dozed off for the next thing she was aware of was a sharp knock at the door. Jaime cursed and hurriedly jumped from the bed, pulling on his breeches and shirt as he made his way to the door. He pulled the bedclothes over his naked wife even though she would not be visible from their door and Sansa was content to lie still, the warm satisfied afterglow of their lovemaking still pervading her body. 

She smiled sleepily at Jaime as he returned.  
“What was that about?”  
“Two letters have arrived for me, both were delivered by rider earlier.”  
The prospect of news from King’s Landing brought Sansa back to reality and she felt slightly embarrassed at having been caught abed with her husband in the middle of the afternoon. She raised herself to a sitting position and watched as Jaime opened the first of the missives. He husband’s face lit up.  
“It is from Tyrion.”

_Dearest Brother,_  
_I trust this letter finds you and Sansa well, I have no doubt that she will be doing all she can to ensure that you do not shirk your duties at the Rock and that you are equally diligent in your efforts to persuade her to take the rest expected of a lady in her condition.  
I am sorry that I have been unable to write to you sooner, as you have heard I have once again been occupied with defying the Stranger, clearly this is what happens when my big brother is not close by to protect me. I shall be seeing you soon and we can discuss these matters at length but I know father has appraised you of the salient points including my own upcoming nuptials at Casterly Rock. I have no doubt you were as surprised as I to learn of this development however let me assure you that my initial surprise has long since given way to joy. Of course through Sansa and yourself, Margaery and I had known each other prior to this change in our circumstances and have now had the opportunity to build on this acquaintance, truly Jaime I cannot imagine another woman who would make me happier and who I would sooner have for my wife. To add to this almost miraculous set of circumstances, I cannot but believe that my lady feels the same. I asked her if she wished to send some word to Sansa to that effect but she informed me my good sister was already well aware and after that would say no more despite considerable coaxing on my part.  <\em> _

____

_I trust that the selfless happiness Sansa and yourself shall no doubt harbour at this happy outcome for two people you hold dear will offer some compensation for having to arrange a wedding. It is something I have gained a little experience of lately and I know it to be a tedious business._

_When you contemplate our happy family reunion in what was our childhood home it is worth remembering that our sister will not accompany myself and father to the West, she is currently low in spirits and not much about court. I am sure you realise that King Tommen is also not in a position to join us. He has asked me to send his warmest regards to his Uncle Jaime and Aunt Sansa. Truly he is showing incredible fortitude in the current situation, even our lord father appears somewhat impressed. I know that if you were to find the time to write to Tommen it would mean a great deal._

_Now I must draw this letter to a close, I look forward to being reunited with you, I am tempted to say it will be just like our youth but I wish to end on a happy note._

_My best wishes, your brother Tyrion._

Sansa reached out and playfully swatted Jaime’s arm.  
“You see, I told you it was all alright. you should listen to your wife!”  
She expected Jaime to respond with a devilish grin and some jape but instead he turned to her with shining eyes.  
“Sansa, I have never heard my brother sound so happy. At least not since…” He broke off, his eyes’ darkening.  
“Jaime, Tyrion did mention to me once that he had been married for a short time when he was six and ten.” Sansa began tentatively then stopped as her husband’s expression became almost pained.  
“That he was. The girl was lowborn, my father ensured the match was ended.”  
Sansa did not wish to ask more, she knew all to well what Tywin Lannister was capable of. Jaime sighed.  
“It was the only time I ever let Tyrion down, but it was also the only time he had joy.”  
“That is no longer the case. He is happy now, you said so yourself. You have not let him down since and I know you will not again.” Sansa stated firmly.  
Jaime gave her a smile though his eyes remained grave. Then he frowned.  
“What did Tyrion mean about finding time to write to Tommen, has my letter been somehow waylaid?”  
His wife shared his confusion. Following the news of Joffrey’s demise and their discussion regarding Myrcella and Tommen Jaime had written to both, offering them reassurance and entreating them to contact him should they ever need help. Myrcella’s response had arrived the week before. As well as her thanks for his support she had recounted many details of her life in Dorne. It seemed she was very happy there and privately Sansa had been amused to note Jaime’s gruffness regarding the warm words she used to describe young Trystane Martell. She had offered Jaime and Sansa congratulations on the impending birth of their child and expressed a hope that they may visit her in Dorne once the child was born. Although he had said little, Sansa had seen how much the words of affection from the daughter he could not call his had meant to her husband and she had been glad for him. As yet no similar reply had been received from Tommen and Jaime’s letter should have arrived long before Tyrion could have sent his own. A thought occurred to her.  
“Jaime, who is the second letter from? It may be Tommen.”  
Her husband grabbed at the second missive and tore it open. He scanned it, his features showing an increasing amount of disgust. He looked up with a scowl.  
“It is from my sweet sister.”  
Sansa knew he would try to hide the missive from her, so she quickly grabbed it from him. Jaime frowned but made no move to stop her from reading it. 

_I am writing to you because you owe me a debt. Whilst you paraded that traitorous bitch around our home, that little monster you pity so much and his smirking whore have killed our firstborn son. Our boy is dead. Father refuses to see it or refuses to acknowledge it, all he cares for are his ambitions for house Lannister. He was happy to sell me off when it suited those ambitions, now he seeks to hide me so none may know the truth. This would not have happened if you had stayed by my side to keep our children safe. You owe me a debt and you owe Joffrey vengeance. You will kill Tyrion for what he has done. I suggest you do not delay, if you still claim to love him. For I promise you Jaime if you cannot do this thing for me I will do it myself and I will not be kind. Kill him for killing our son, but leave his whore to me._

Sansa knew Cerise’s cruelty all to well and could imagine the fates which the other woman would seek to bestow on Tyrion and Margaery. Instinctively her hand went to her belly. She dropped the letter and looked at Jaime horrified. His face showed rage.  
“Gods she’s a hateful woman. She still seeks to control me with the only thing she has left - our children.”  
“Jaime, this message is not long, she could have sent it by raven. I think your father must be keeping her in fairly significant seclusion.”  
When Tyrion had mentioned in his letter that Cersei would not be coming to the Rock, Sansa had assumed this was the Queen’s own choice, now it seemed she was not free to make such choices. Sansa felt relieved by this but she could not help but be unsettled by desperate and unhinged tone of the missive.  
Jaime snatched the parchment and made as if to burn it. Sansa grabbed his wrist and gazed at him intently.  
“No Jaime, we must keep this, we may come upon a time when we have a use for it.”  
He blanched at her words and Sansa was reminded that for all her husband had been through it was she who had watched her father murdered and then seen her mother and siblings betrayed and cut down. She held his gaze.  
“Jaime, Cersei wants me dead; she wants this baby dead; she knows we have taken you from her. My love, I pray to the mother in her mercy that you are never called upon to act against your own sister but that time may come. We need this letter for protection.”  
He looked at her solemnly.  
“When did you become so wise?” Sansa placed her hands on either side of his face.  
“When I decided that no one was going tear my family apart again.”  
She kissed him fiercely and as they broke apart, his hand came to rest on the swell of her stomach and he smiled at her.  
“No one ever shall, my she wolf wife.”


	33. Growing Strong

Tyrion stood in his chambers, watching as Bronn and Podrick packed the last of his possessions into trunks. He and Margaery would be returning to King’s Landing after they wed, but his current accommodation was not deemed suitable for a married couple (he suspected Olenna and Mace had deemed it unsuitable for their Rose as it seemed that he and Margaery would be taking possession of what had been the Tyrell apartments upon their return).

He glanced around the room which he had found himself in upon regaining consciousness following the Battle of Blackwater and could not help but smile when he thought of how much had changed since then _and all of it for the better._ His mood was further buoyed when he heard a familiar bouncing step from the corridor outside and looked up to see Margaery appear in the doorway. He walked towards her the grin on his face matching her own and she leant down and kissed him briefly. 

“How goes your packing, love?”  
“It goes well for him, m’lady.” Muttered Bronn in a tone loud enough for all to hear.   
“He ain’t doing any of the work.”  
Margaery shot Tyrion an amused glance before turning to Pod.  
“Do you find the task a strain, Podrick?”  
“Um…no, my lady.”  
“Such fortitude! It is so rare to find a man with strength and stamina. We could do with men such as yourself in Reach.”  
The lad had almost turned purple at her teasing. Bronn smirked.  
“What of me, Lady Margaery, - could you do with men such as myself in the Reach?”  
Margaery held his gaze for a beat.  
“Perhaps you should ask my brother, Ser Bronn.”  
Tyrion gave her an admiring look before turing to his sell sword with a broad smile.  
“You see why I love her?”  
“Oh yes, I can see why.” Bronn replied drily but with a smile of his face. He closed the full trunk and, with Podrick’s assistance, moved it towards the door. Tyrion waited until they had departed and then pulled Margaery towards one of the remaining chairs, sitting beside her and capturing her lips in a kiss.   
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, sweetheart?”  
“Other than the considerable attraction of your person? Loras wanted me to ask that you meet with him after dinner.”  
“Very well, although if this is him planning to warn me of the fate he has in store for me should I hurt you, he will have to be very graphic. I do have Cersei for a sister.”  
His tone had been sarcastic but Margaery knew he was only partly joking. The previous week when her family had dined with the Lannisters, Cersei had been present for the first time since her son’s death. The woman had sat shooting hate filled glares at Margaery and Tyrion and saying very little. Near the end of the meal she had raised her glass and never taking her eyes from her brother, had toasted his betrothal to Margaery with the hope that they may know true love as she so wanted Tyrion to know what that felt like. The blood had drained from Tyrion’s face and later he had told her what Cersei had said to him the day Myrcella was sent to Dorne. Now, she placed her hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes.  
“Tyrion. No one is going to take me away from you. Certainly not your deranged bitch of a sister. Remember what you told me when she was betrothed to Loras, your father wants his grandchild to have Highgarden apart from anything else he will ensure my safety.”  
Tyrion’s smile was bitter.  
“Yes at long last my lord father has found a reason not to regret my continued survival.”  
Margaery thought of the tales he had told her of his childhood; of the evening they had talked about his first marriage and how it had ended. She had embraced him and told him fiercely that it was not his fault, that she was not afraid and that this time the love he had found was real and true. She had remained with him for a long time afterwards, until he knew she would not run away. Then Margery had returned to her own chambers and cried herself to sleep for the first time in her life. 

Hearing about Tyrion’s past made her view much of what has passed between them up to now in a different light. Margaery had gained an insight into why he had pushed her away so often. For an instant she had regretted not doing something to make it easier for him but in truth there was nothing she could have done. As she thought about the leap of faith Tyrion had taken to declare his heart to her she felt a rush of love for the wonderful man who she now proudly acknowledged as hers. She pulled his face to hers and and began to kiss him fiercely. 

Neither of them was aware enough of their surroundings to be alerted by the sound of footsteps, and they did not break their embrace until they heard Bronn address Podrick sardonically:  
“Goin’ at it again, they certainly don’t behave like any highborn betrothed couple I’ve ever seen before.”  
Margaery rested her forehead against Tyrion’s   
“Highborn betrothed couples don’t generally love each other, Ser Bronn.”  
She was pleased to see the genuine smile on Tyrion’s face. She wanted him to be happy and not dwell on his worries and fears. She gave him a final kiss and rose to depart.   
“So I shall tell Loras to expect you later?”  
“Of course, my love.”  
She beamed at him, hearing the endearment drop from his lips still made her heart beat a little faster. She nodded her farewells to Bronn and Pod and departed.

Later Tyrion made his way to meet with the man who would soon be his good brother. As they sat he faced the younger man with a lopsided grin.  
“So, is this where you threaten to run me through if I make your sister cry?”  
Loras returned his smirk.  
“I hardly think that necessary, you have met our grandmother.”  
They laughed together but then Tyrion took on a serious tone:   
“Loras, I know perfectly well that the reputation I have cultivated over the years is far from what most brothers would desire in their sister’s spouse. But please be assured that I am already completely faithful to Margaery and I will continue to be so until the end of my days.”  
The Knight of the Flowers smiled.  
“Tyrion, anyone can see that the two of you are absolutely besotted. I wanted to see you tonight to thank you, I suppose.”  
Tyrion’s face must have shown his confusion as Loras continued:  
“I love my sister very much, she has always been single minded and determined. I admire her strength in that respect. When we first came to King’s Landing, I had heard how Joffrey was and I worried for her. I told her I had hoped she might find love in a marriage. She thought the notion ridiculous, truth to be told so did I. I have spent my life watching Margaery run rings round every man she met, with you I could tell things were different from very early on. I wanted to tell you that I can think of no man I would rather see her wed.”  
Tyrion was touched by this speech.  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
Loras’ face took on a wistful expression  
“When Renly and I first met, I couldn’t believe he would return the feelings I had for him. I wasted so much time, time it turned out we didn’t have.” The young man looked down and Tyrion felt sympathy for him.  
“Loras, Renly was a good man.”  
“I truly wish I had never tried to persuade him to take the throne.”  
Tyrion did not know what to say. It seemed crass to talk of future love but Loras was younger than Margaery, he would have a long life to love a ghost. The two men sat in silence for some minutes. Then Loras sighed:  
“Well, I am a Kingsgaurd now and I have high hopes for our new king.”  
“Tommen is a fine boy.”  
“He is, I shall do all I can to protect him.”  
Tyrion smiled but quickly his face became grave.  
“See that you protect yourself. I know that you are well aware my sister is a hateful bitch, be on your guard once we have left for the Rock. My uncle Kevan is not quite as adept at managing her as my lord father. I have no doubt she will try to use you to hurt Margaery.”   
Loras nodded.   
“I will be careful. You have a long day of travel ahead tomorrow, I have no doubt you wish to retire and rest.”  
Tyrion nodded and the pair stood. Loras shook his hand and they went their separate ways. 

When Tyrion reached his chambers he found Bronn standing guard as expected. The sellsword made no verbal greeting but gave Tyrion a smirk and a wink as he opened the door. This put Tyrion on edge and when he saw a woman’s cloak and boots beside the table in his solar he inwardly cursed Bronn. He moved towards his bed chamber rapidly, calling out as he went:  
“Madam, I apologise but you have been brought here under false pretences. I am betrothed and my heart and indeed every part of me belong to that lady alone.”  
“I am glad to hear it.” A silvery voice replied  
“Do you think that lady may avail herself of some of those parts right now?”

Margaery was extremely satisfied to observe the look of complete surprise on Tyrion’s face as he entered his chamber and saw her lounging on his bed. He had been in earnest when he had told her he meant to romance her in the weeks prior to their departure for the Rock and he had done so very successfully. In the week after they had declared their love, bouquets of her favourite violet shaded roses had found their way to her chambers every single day. When she had asked him teasingly if he was not aware that such flowers could be seen just as easily in the gardens of the Red Keep as back in the Reach, he had given her a mischievous look and replied that when he was about the garden with her, he was certainly not paying attention to the flowers. He had then asked what she missed about her home that could not be found here.   
“The hummingbirds green and blue and purple, they are like tiny flying jewels.”   
The following week he had presented her with a gold bracelet adored with small replicas of the birds each embellished with a precious stone. 

Considering she had not thought herself a romantic woman at all, Margaery had to admit, these and similar gestures had delighted her. However, given everything Tyrion had shared with her, it was clear that there was more to his hesitance regrading physical intimacy than simple gentlemanly conduct. He did not want her to think of him as a lustful little beast, to remind her that every woman he had slept with until now had been a whore. Margaery also suspected that he had some residual doubts as to his appearance and her attraction to him. Given how his first marriage had come to an end at Castlerly Rock she had no doubt such feelings would be exacerbated there and that the scrutiny they would be subjected to throughout the wedding would make matters worse. Now she looked into his eyes and tried to convey all her love and desire for him.   
“Tyrion, I am sure you have realised I have not come to your chambers at this hour for Cyvasse and polite conversation. Now, if you truly wish us to wait until our wedding night, then that is what we will do but I am impatient for this. I have had a need for you for a very long time my love.”

She saw his doubts chase across his face but after a moment he smiled and shook his head.   
“Never let it be said that I am not attentive to your needs, my lady.”  
Margaery could not help but smirk in triumph. Once Tyrion had climbed onto the bed she sat up and placed her hands gently on his neck, pulling his face to hers.   
Gallant as he had been, Tyrion had not left her in doubt of his desire for her person. His hands had wandered during previous embraces, but tonight, in the particular gown she wore, it was very easy for him to dispense with her bodice and place his hands on her bare breasts. He began to stroke them almost roughly and Margaery felt heat and need building up inside her. Tyrion’s kiss moved from her lips to her neck and chest and when he set his teeth to the last few ties on the front of her gown, she felt her woman parts start to throb. 

She was now naked to the waist and Tyrion broke their embrace and drank in the site of her. Margaery had seen the look in his eyes several times before and was pleased to have her suspicion confirmed that he had been undressing her with his eyes. She began to unbutton his doublet and could tell by the way he tensed that some of the doubt was returning. She kissed him softly on the lips then took his face in her hands.  
“Tyrion. I would like you to take your clothes off.”  
“Why?”  
Margaery could not help but smile at the absurdity of the question. She raised an eyebrow.  
“It would please me to please my lord.”

Tyrion felt certain there was nothing he could ever hear a woman say that would fill him with such delight as the phrase Margaery had just purred. He looked into her eyes and he could see only desire burning there and for the second time that night his doubt flew away. He stood on the bed and removed his doublet, shirt and trousers. When he was fully naked her eyes traveled up and down his person and a satisfied smirk came to her lips.   
“It would seem that some of the rumours about you are grounded in fact.”  
Tyrion could not help but feel smug at this reference to the one gift the gods had seen fit to grant him. He let her gently push him down onto the bed and then she began to kiss his neck, rubbing her erect nipples across his torso. She slowly moved lower and soon her felt her take his member in her mouth, caressing his balls with one hand as she did so. He could hardly believe this was actually happening, in his abandoned state he wondered why they had not been doing this for months. She ran her tongue gently over the tip of his manhood and he cried out, gripping her soft, thick hair as he did so. As she moved her lips further down taking more of him into her mouth he could feel his release building, feel the familiar sensation beginning to overtake him and he all but growled out her name as he reach his climax. He threw his head back on his pillow and lay gasping and Margaery elegantly slid herself back up the bed to lay beside him. She turned on her side, propping herself up with an elbow.   
“Gods, Margaery, that was incredible.”  
“I am glad. I have to confess, I was not being completely generous, I thought perhaps if you reached your peak first, you would be able to sustain my own pleasure for longer.”  
Tyrion looked at her, a smile playing on his lips.   
“You are a sly vixen, my lady, it is one of the many things I love about you.”  
“Why don’t you show me how much.”  
“I fully intend to, my darling.”

Margaery could see his eyes raking over her again. She had dispensed with her gown when she moved to the bottom on the bed and now she slowly and deliberately removed her small clothes. They were completely naked before each other. She gave him a look as intense as the one he was giving her. Tyrion’s body may be small but it was firm and solid and his arms were surprisingly muscular. He motioned for her to lie down on her back. Then whispered softly in her ear:  
“Shut your eyes.”  
She did as he asked and lay still, desire and anticipation coursing through her. She felt him raise her left hand and very slowly he took each finger and sucked it, pressing hard with his thumb on the centre of her palm as he did so. When he was finished there was a brief pause and then she felt his lips on the point where her neck met her shoulder, she squirmed and mewed softly, this only causing him to deepen the kiss and graze her lightly with his teeth. The went on for several minutes, as he placed his lips on different parts of her body and by the end of it she was wanton and breathless. When she could stand it no more she opened her eyes and pulled him on top of her, working her hips against his legs, finding some outlet in the wonderful sensation of their naked bodies pressed so close together. There lips met with a furious passion and she could feel his cock, fully erect once more, pressing into her stomach. When the kiss broke he murmured in her ear:  
“Turn onto your front, I am not done with you yet.”  
His voice low and gravelly with desire send pleasurable shivers through her. She complied and was soon arching her back into his lips and he kissed her comprehensively. His hand made its way towards her cunt and as his fingers slipped inside her she gave a moan, thrusting herself against them. She felt heat coiling in her lower belly stronger than any she had experienced before. She had imagined coupling with him many, many times but this surpassed even her most erotic thoughts. As she was almost on the edge he removed his hand and stepped back completely, She turned to face him and this time the growl was on her lips.   
“Tyrion, I want you to fuck me now.”  
“As my lady commands.”  
He pushed her down on her back and knelt before her. He lifted her left leg and placing kisses along it, put it over his shoulder repeating the action with the right, then he took his manhood and slipped it inside her. Before he had even moved she was crying out in pleasure. Margaery looked up into his green eyes and saw the same desire and need she knew must be shining in her own. His hands were on her hips and he was pulling her towards him in time with each thrust, hitting a spot deep inside her that sent waves of pleasure right through her.   
“Oh Tyrion, fuck yes.”  
“Margaery, I love you.”  
“Oh my gods I love you too.”  
She could feel herself reaching the peak of her pleasure, it was far more intense than anything she had experienced before. As the spasms went through her body she felt Tyrion spill himself inside her and and coherent thought was lost to both of them for some moments. 

Tyrion removed her legs and lay down beside her on his back. Margaery very quickly moved to give him a deep kiss then fixed him with a smile so full of love and contentment it made his heart sing.   
“Tyrion, you truly are a man of many talents.”  
He smirked at her.  
“I am glad to hear I did not disappoint.”  
“Disappoint? Had I known it would be as good this, I would have told Littlefinger when he came to negotiate with us at Renly’s camp that the price of the Reach was Tyrion Lannister, naked and chained to my bed.”   
His smile widened “Wicked, wanton woman.”  
“If I am then you are entirely to blame.”  
She smiled and settled her head into the crook of his arm. Tyrion gently ran his hand over her bare arm thinking he could not remember a single instance when he had felt such contentment. It was not just the release, although making love to Margery tonight had brought an end to what had been the longest period of celibacy in his adult life by quite some time. It was the difference between joining with a woman who did it purely for love and pleasure and joining with a whore. Tyrion had always tried to be attentive and generous with any woman he fucked, after all he did not want them to think him any more of a monster than he already was. But as he grew older it became obvious that many women who laid with men for money, simply wanted the business over as quickly as possible. In addition there had always been a lingering sense of shame somewhere in the back of his mind, even with Shae, despite all they had been to each other by the end of their time together. What had passed between he and Margaery tonight had reinforced to him once again that she truly loved him and though he still could not quite believe his luck, he was beginning to acknowledge that he was not in a dream and that having her by his side and in his bed was indeed his lot in life from now on. In that moment he felt elated and thought that if every trial and humiliation he had suffered until now had been necessary to bring him to this moment, he could have suffered them all tenfold and still thought himself blessed.

He pulled Margaery closer and kissed her head. She gave a small satisfied sigh and as he glanced down at her he realised she was falling asleep.   
“Margaery love, wake up, you must not fall asleep! You have to return to your chambers.”  
She opened her warm, hazel eyes and fixed him with a mock pout.  
“But I am comfortable here.”  
“You know perfectly well your grandmother would pierce me with every thorn she has if I let you stay.”   
“You are afraid her?”  
“Of course! I am not a fool.”  
Margaery rolled her eyes but got up from the bed and began to locate her clothes. Tyrion scrambled down to assist, although his help was more of a hindrance as they both found the proximity of the other’s naked body more than a little distracting.   
As she made to go, she fixed him with a look of genuine consternation.  
“And how shall we make it through the journey to Casterly Rock? There is small chance we shall have an opportunity for another tryst.”  
He took her hand and smiled at her.  
“Plenty of long lingering looks and the occasional heated fondle when no one is looking. It won’t be so different to how we were before.”  
Margaery laughed.   
“And when we get there, you shall be my husband and we shall make up for all the time we have lost.”  
She kissed him then opened the door. He watched Bronn escort her away and then returned to his bed, smiling as he pulled the sheets about him and breathed in the scent of the woman he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has commented, bookmarked or left kudos : )


	34. Family Reunion

Jaime stood on the eastward facing battlements, watching the host get closer and closer. He smirked to himself as he cast his mind back to the last time he had observed Lannister and Tyrell banners flying together. It was not really so long ago and yet for all that had changed it may have been another lifetime. _For really what remains of who I was before? What except Tyrion?_ Since Jaime had finally buried the twisted love he had for Cersei, he had come to value more than ever the bond he shared with his younger sibling. He thought of the protection Tyrion had given Sansa in King’s Landing when she was alone and defenceless and he felt a rush of pride and affection for his little brother. Having received Tyrion’s letter from the capital, Jaime felt more hopeful that his brother’s impending marriage would indeed bring Tyrion the happiness her deserved, but he knew his mind would not be truly at rest until he saw the couple together and determined how things lay between them. 

While Jaime was certainly keen to see his brother, he regarded his impending reunion with his father less enthusiastically. In the months following the Red Wedding more details had found their way to the Rock. Jaime knew _The Rains of Castamere_ had played as the slaughter began and he knew that Roose Bolton had stabbed Robb Stark while uttering the phrase: ‘The Lannisters send their regards.’ Short of shutting his wife in a tower he could not guarantee that similar details would not make their way to her ears and there had been nights when she had raged to him about his father. He thanked the gods he had not tried to deny any possible involvement from Tywin when the news first broke, as he was sure that had she any reason to doubt his own non-complicity things would have broken between them irrevocably. Even a few months previously Jaime would have wondered how his father could have put him in such a position. Now he was sure: Tywin Lannister saw his children as nothing more than a means to achieving his legacy. He did not care if they were happy as long as they were compliant and if they were not compliant he would see to it they became so. Jaime thought about Tommen and Myrcella. There were times now when he wished more than anything he could bring them here and acknowledge they were his. Of course he knew this was out of the question but he felt resentment burn within him at the fact his own father had three children who he cared so little for while Jaime ached for the two he could not call his own.

Deciding the arrival was imminent, Jaime descended to the main keep. He found Sansa in the large solar where she generally sat to sew with the other ladies. She was with Dorna and Lady Alerie Tyrell. Margaery’s mother had arrived the night before and as far as Jaime could ascertain she had not stopped talking since. Happily she seemed to have struck up a friendship with his aunt, being greatly taken with little Janei. Sansa stood to greet him with a small smile, her hand straying to the sleeve of her gown. He knew she was nervous about seeing his father and as he took her arm he pulled her slightly to him, hoping to convey reassurance. 

They made their way to the courtyard and before long the first riders began to arrive. His father dismounted his steed and strode towards them. Jaime bowed his head.  
“My lord father, I am glad to see you here safely”  
“Jaime. I trust all is well here.”  
Jaime looked at his father’s stern face and a small part of him felt put out. _He was more pleased to set eyes on me as a bedraggeled runaway!_  
Tywin had turned to Jaime’s wife.  
“Good day, Sansa.”  
“My Lord, I am pleased to see you well.”  
“Yes, how is the babe? It has quickened by now I presume?”  
“Yes, my lord, I feel it move frequently.”  
“Good.”  
Tywin turned away and Jaime noted angrily that his father’s only concern in regard to Sansa was the child in her womb. His mood was lifted by the sight of his younger brother walking towards him, his face clean shaven and lit up by a grin.  
“Tyrion! Its good to see you, brother.”  
“Likewise. Gods how long must it be since we both stood within these walls?”  
“I would not like to say.”  
“I am sure you would not, especially in the presence of your beautiful young wife.”  
Sansa had approached the pair, a warm smile on her face as her eyes met Tyrion’s  
“I am so happy to see you, Tyrion.”  
“And I you, my darling good sister, I trust you are well? I hope this brother of mine has been taking good care of you.”  
“He is attentive to a fault. Tyrion, this is Lady Alerie, Margaery’s mother, Lady Alerie, my good brother Tyrion.”  
Jaime watched with amusement as his brother took the older woman’s hand and briefly touched it to his lips.  
“I am honoured to meet you, my lady, I can see now where your daughter gets her good looks from. Although, I must confess you look far too young to be a mother to children grown.”  
Margaery’s mother beamed.  
“You are just as charming as she told me! I can see why she is so taken with you! In fact, may I say it is such a pleasure to finally lay eyes on the man who both my children write to me about in such glowing terms!”  
“ _Both_ your children, my lady?”  
Inquired Jaime shooting a smirk at Tyrion who scowled at him in response. Before Alerie could say any more her attention was caught by a wheelhouse emblazoned with golden roses and no sooner had Margaery descended the steps than her mother was pulling her into an embrace and appeared close to tears. The look of disdain on the Queen of Thorns face as she observed this reunion was mirrored by the Lannister patriarch. Tywin approached his sons and good daughter.  
“Jaime, Tyrion, I will speak with you both in my study in half an hour.”  
Then he strode off. Sansa smiled at her husband, seeming to relax almost as soon as Tywin’s back was turned.  
“I shall show the Tyrells to their accommodation, the two of you should spend some time together I am sure you have much to discuss.” She placed a soft kiss on Jaime’s cheek and moved towards Margaery and her family. 

As soon as the brothers entered Tyrion’s chamber, the younger Lannister looked up at his brother and raised his eyebrows quizzically.  
“Well, Jaime, I see your golden locks are returned to their former glory. What happened to ‘eschewing the vanity of youth’?”  
Jaime recollected the conversation his brother referred to; it had taken place during one of the many wine soaked nights they had spent together when Cersei's betrayal was still fresh and stinging. Now he turned a face to Tyrion which was both sheepish and smug.  
“Sansa prefers it this way.”  
“‘Sansa prefers it this way’?”   
Repeated Tyrion, his tone mocking but his eyes warm and twinkling “I see and there I was counting on you for advice on how to assert my authority in my own impending marriage.”  
Jaime eyed his brother sceptically.  
“I am sure you have no need of my help in that department, brother. And whilst we are discussing aesthetics, may I ask why you are one again bare faced?”  
Tyrion grinned but he too looked somewhat abashed.  
“Apparently, I look especially handsome with the scar.”  
Jaime made no attempt to stop the joyful laugh that rose to his lips, Tyrion joined him and after a moment, still grinning Jaime shook his head:  
“How in the name of the seven did we find ourselves in such good circumstances, brother?” Jaime knew Tyrion better than anyone else and he could see that his brother was happier than he had ever been before. Tyrion returned his smile but quickly his features became earnest.  
“I will tell you one thing, brother, I did not bring any of this about by having a hand in Joffrey’s death.”  
“I know you did not. I would never think such of you. But, Tyrion, what truly happened? I cannot help but think there was more to it than bad meat. ”  
Tyrion was unsure exactly how to respond. When Olenna had told him she had no part in the murder, he had been rather too preoccupied with the revelation that Margaery wanted to marry him to think of much else. Now he wondered if the Queen of Thorns had in fact been the culprit and was deceiving her granddaughter in regard to this. To be frank, it was a notion he found he could reconcile himself to. Olenna wanted to protect Margaery; a feeling he knew very well. Also the older woman was clearly making no moves to impeded their marriage and during these weeks, which were easily the happiest he had ever known, Tyrion found he had little appetite to care about much that was not his betrothed. However, he could not expect his brother to make such concessions. Jaime had been enraged with Cersei, the supposed other half of his being, for attempting Tyrion’s life, surely he would not react well to a woman who meant nothing to him poisoning both his siblings and his father in addition to killing his first born. He decided to stick to facts.  
“I honestly do not know. At first I was convinced of foul play. Lord Varys happened upon me earlier the same day, he made some cryptic comment about moderating my alcohol consumption and when I tasted the wine at father’s table, I was sure something was amiss. But, Pycelle says spoiled meat and father seemed satisfied by that. Of course, sweet Cersei is convinced I committed the deed in collaboration with the Tyrells.”  
“I know. She wrote me a letter to that effect.”  
“Entreating you to wreck vengeance on the murderous little monster I have no doubt.”  
Tyrion’s tone was light but Jaime could tell he was anxious and that even in his current ebullient mood, his sister’s venomous hatred still stung. He placed a hand on his little brother’s shoulder.  
“Cersei is all talk. What can she do to you?”   
Tyrion gave a small smile  
“A great deal I am sure, should she have the chance. However, she is being kept confined very closely.”  
“There you are! Father will not see her harm you or Margaery.”  
“No indeed. It is a strange feeling to be of importance to Tywin Lannister, even if it is only as a piece in his game. But, Jaime, I do not think he keeps her confined for that reason, he seems angry with her. Tommen told me he has only been allowed to see his mother a handful of times since Joffrey died.”  
The mention of Tommen, called to Jaime’s mind Tyrion’s request that he write to the boy king.  
“Tyrion, did Tommen receive my letter? I wrote to both he and Myrcella as soon as we received the news of Joff’s death.”  
“He has certainly received nothing, brother. Before we left the capital he asked me once again to convey how hopeful he was to hear word from you soon.”   
Jaime felt a pang in his heart for the sweet little boy who in some ways reminded him of a young Tyrion. He wanted to question him further on Tommen’s well being but he was aware Tywin would be expecting them both. He sighed.  
“Come, brother, best we do not keep our sire waiting.”

When they arrived in Tywin’s study their father was seated at his desk writing, Tyrion exchanged a smirk with his brother; it was impossible that having just arrived in the castle Tywin had anyone to write to and yet this charade which had been a part of their life since childhood was studiously maintained. After several moments Tywin looked up.  
“Sit down, we have important matters to discuss.”  
The brothers sat but their father continued to write. Jaime spoke:  
“All is well here father. Lannisport harbour is well maintained and the most of the banner men have begun their preparations for winter.”  
“I did not ask if all was well. I do not need to ask you if all is well. Kevan has only been gone for a few weeks and his wife remains here.”  
Tyrion watched his brother frown.  
“I have not been sitting idle and leaving my duties to Kevan. As for Aunt Dorna, Sansa has relieved her of almost all her responsibilities with regards to the household. My wife is recognised by all as the lady of this keep and has borne this task while mourning the remains of her family.”  
“I trust she has managed to keep her grief private. The Starks were our enemies, she would be foolish to remind any she belonged to that house.”  
Tyrion noticed his father’s eye stray to the silver ring which adorned Jaime’s left hand then his brother spoke again in a defiant tone:  
“Our enemies they were but they did not deserve to be slaughtered at a wedding.”  
“Your wife would have preferred you to cut them down on the battlefield?”  
“My wife would have preferred they did not die at all!”  
Tywin raised his brows.  
“Then she would like to see you dead? What do you imagine would happen to the child she carries in that scenario?”  
Jaime clenched his jaw, a picture of frustration.  
“The Lannister name will now be cursed throughout the north, and her’s with it. You have ensured she can never return to the land of her birth.”  
“On the contrary - I have ensured that her son will one day rule the North. Unless you are telling me that you will sit back and allow the men who stabbed her brother to claim her children’s birthright too?”  
Tyrion watched his father speak, noting the disdainful curl of Tywin’s lips and the stony look in his eyes. It was strange to see his sire direct his cold fury at anyone other than Tyrion himself but especially at Jaime; his golden son. He watched the pair lock eyes for a moment longer, then Tywin spoke again:  
“Jaime, your sons will have Casterley Rock and Winterfell. Tyrion’s son will have Highgarden. You will both play your part in ensuring the legacy of house Lannister.”  
“What role in this legacy do you envisage for Cersei?” Tyrion could not help but ask.   
“Cersei’s son is king. House Lannister must do all it can to ensure King Tommen’s long and prosperous rule.”   
Tywin’s face was inscrutable but Tyrion noticed his eyes were boring into Jaime. An unsettling thought crossed his mind but before he had time to dwell on it his father’s attention was on him.  
“Tyrion, you will travel to Braavos a sennight after your wedding to negotiate with the Iron Bank.”  
Tyrion gazed at his father incredulously. He recovered his applomb enough to reply:  
“While your faith in me is truly gratifying, lord father, I cannot help but think that a sennight is not very long for me to work on begetting a Lannister heir for Highgarden.”  
Tywin’s expression did not change.  
“You will take Margaery with you. It is time you tried to use that low cunning in service of something other than your own grasping ambition.”  
Normally Tyrion would have responded with some witty retort or at least asked his father how he expected him to convince the Iron Bank the crown could repay debts with money they did not have. However he could not help but feel relieved at the prospect of keeping Margaery far away from Cersei for as long as possible. There was also a more boyish glee rising within him at the thought of journeying to the Isle of Braavos with his soon to be wife. However he glanced at Jaime and taking in his brother’s grim visage he could not help but say:  
“Do you envisage this trip including a stop off in Dorne? It has been long since any of us set eyes on Myrcella, surely she is also part of legacy of House Lannister.”  
Jaime spoke quickly:  
“She wrote to me earlier this month. She is keen to visit Casterly Rock or that myself and Sansa should visit her.”  
“I highly doubt Doran Martell will let her out of his sight. As for you and Sansa, have you so quickly forgotten the duties at the Rock you inform me you both attend to so assiduously?”  
Once again Tyrion observed his father and brother glare at each other; the idea which had come to his mind previously began to assert itself again but this time his thoughts were interrupted by a page knocking at the door to announce dinner. 

As they walked towards the great hall where they would dine, Jaime sought to compose himself. Despite the fact that Tywin’s actions regarding Sansa and her family had made Jaime view is father in an increasingly critical light, a small part of him expected and even hoped, that Tywin would greet him with pride. After all, his whole life his father had impressed upon him his desire to see Jaime installed as heir to Casterly Rock married and establishing a family of his own. Although he chided himself for having any expectation that he could ever truly please his father, Jaime could not help but wonder why it was that Tywin seemed more hostile towards him than at almost any point in the past he could remember. He shook his head; it was useless to dwell on such things. He had disappointed his lord father before and he would doubtless do so again. 

His mood was lifted considerably as they entered the hall and Sansa turned to him with a beaming smile on her face. He took a place beside her and planted a kiss on her proffered cheek. She seemed far more cheerful than she had been earlier and he was glad that she was able to enjoy spending time with the Tyrells. Jaime knew that Tyrion was not far behind him and he watched Margaery closely. Jaime had firsthand experience of how deceptive some women could be and he was anxious to ensure that Tyrion was not in danger of experiencing another heartbreak.

Immediately Tyrion entered the room he saw Margaery’s face lit up; he was satisfied to note that she did not wear the dazzling smile which had been ever present when she was at Joffrey’s side; the look on her face now was softer and warmer, Jaime could not help but think it made her seem younger and he was reminded that she was not very many years older than his own wife. Tyrion met her gaze and walked towards her eagerly.   
“Well, my love, how do you find my childhood home?”  
“I like it enormously. Sansa has shown me much of it; although there is still much more. What did you men find to talk about for so long?”  
“It seems we are bound for Braavos following the wedding. I am to assure the Iron Bank that Baratheons, like Lannisters pay their debts.”  
Margaery beamed at him in delighted surprise.  
“Then you shall fulfil your ambition with me by your side?”  
Jaime wondered what she spoke of, he saw Tyrion look at her questioningly. Margaery placed her hand on his affectionately.  
“You will have sight of the Titan. You remember you spoke of it the day I met you and Tommen in the gardens?”  
Her tone had become coy with the question and Jaime observed a smirk spread across Tyrion’s face.  
“Of course, the day Bronn was not close by. How could I forget?”  
The pair did not speak further but both looked decidedly sly and were clearly enjoying a private joke. 

Olenna Tyrell threw Tywin a wry look.  
“So your master of coin is off to Braavos, my lord? It seems Tommen’s small council diminishes further by the day. Soon you will be holding meetings with yourself! Why not hurry and appoint a new lord commander of the Kingsgaurd? I am sure His Grace has a fair idea of who he would like to see in the role.”  
“His Grace is a child, my lady, and in no position to consider such thing, hence why I am his Regent.”  
“Regent, Lord Hand, Lord protector of the realm not to mention Lord of Casterly Rock, shield of Lannisport and warden of the west. Soon your titles will be too many to write on a raven scroll!”

Margaery’s mother clearly had no interest in this discussion and turned her attention to Sansa, who was seated opposite her.  
“When do the maesters tell you the baby is due, Lady Sansa?”  
“Not for some months yet, my lady.” Sansa glanced nervously towards Tywin.  
“The maesters assure me I am carrying a boy.”  
Alerie tutted theatrically.  
“They always say that, my dear! They told me the same about Margaery. And as if I could have been happier with a boy! Now from the way you are carrying I am sure it is a girl. Just think! She could marry King Tommen! I always think the best marriages are those where the man is older; like you and Ser Jaime or Tyrion and my Margaery.”   
Lady Tyrell beamed at Sansa completely oblivious to the varying degrees of horror and, in the case of Olenna, amusement on the faces of those around her at her suggestion. Tyrion’s eyes found his father and the look he observed in the Lannister patriarch’s eyes confirmed the suspicion he had been forming in his mind. It became very clear why his father seemed so vehemently displeased with both his siblings and indeed he felt he knew the reason for Cersei and Tywin’s unsettling behaviour the morning of Joffrey’s death. 

After a beat of silence, Margaery turned towards her mother and spoke in a lightly scolding tone:  
“Mother! I am sure Sansa wishes to save discussion of marriage until the child is a little older, or at least born.” She smiled at her friend playfully.   
“Besides I have no doubt any daughter she has will take after her mother’s beauty and grace and as such I shall want them for my sons in Highgarden.”  
Sansa flashed her friend a grateful smile and the conversation moved to less controversial topics. 

After the meal and later in the night, Jaime and Sansa retired to their bed chamber and he sat heavily on the bed with a sigh, grinning up at his still standing wife and pulling her into his lap.  
“Gods what an evening! I thought poor Tyrion had it hard enough with Olenna Tyrell! But Margery’s mother is insufferable!”  
Sansa smiled, her hands carding through his golden hair.  
“I don’t think he minds in the slightest. And what is your opinion of Margaery now, husband? Are you at ease that her intentions are honourable? I could tell you were scrutinising her very closely.”  
Jaime grinned at her teasing and the deeper joy he felt shone clearly in his eyes.  
“Be assured my mind is completely at rest. Truly, Sansa, I cannot believe that both Tyrion and I have managed to find true love and happiness.”  
“Why ever not? You’re both exemplary men.”  
“We’re both damned lucky.”  
Jaime’s last remark was made in a low, seductive voice. As he watched his wife run her tongue across her lips and saw her eyes sparkle and dance, thoughts of his brother and the family he was marrying into left Jaime’s mind completely and no more was said on the subject that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone liked Alerie! As she doesn't appear in the show and is only mentioned in books, she's a bit of an OC. 
> 
> I am so happy to have my fab four back together again, I hope you are too; there will be more sibling (and soon to be sibling) bonding in the next chapter : )
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented : )


	35. Sisters and Brothers

_I am marrying Tyrion tomorrow! We’re getting married tomorrow!_  
The thought had been running through Margaery’s mind all day, making her feel positively giddy. As she made her way through Casterly Rock, it was all she could do not to dance. She swung through the door of the great hall where her mother and grandmother stood with Sansa, supervising the final decorations. She greeted them with a beaming smile.  
“It looks wonderful in here.”  
“I am sure it is not so grand as what was planned in King’s Landing.”  
Margaery looked at Sansa with amusement, but her friend’s face was earnest. _It seems the famous Stark sense of duty has made its way to the lion’s den._ Margaery moved to take the redhead’s arm.  
“I am sure it is grander, and prettier and better in every way.”  
She felt as if she could have danced again. She had certainly not felt any excitement like this the day before she married Renly and she could only imagine the cold dread which would have invaded her the day before becoming Joffrey’s wife. Olenna had moved to one of the long tables and was haranguing an unfortunate youth who was placing vases. Margery’s mother turned to the girls happily.  
“Is everything satisfactory with your gown and jewels, my dear? The dress has not been spoiled in the trip here?’  
“It is all fine, mother. Thank you so much for brining me your hair ornaments from Highgarden. Sansa, I am to wear the golden roses my father gave my mother to wear on her wedding day.”  
Alerie shot a furtive glance to at Olenna and clearly having decided the Queen of Thorns was suitably preoccupied sniffed.  
“I am glad you like them, dear. I know there are some who regret you will not be wearing a crown to the sept. I am not one of them. I can tell that you are happy and that’s all that matters to me.”  
“Alerie, I am not deaf nor have a lost my wits, kindly do not speak of me as if I was not aware!” Olenna’s crisp tones carried across the room and Sansa and Margaery looked at each other with a smile. The Queen of Thorns had fixed her good daughter with a scornful glare.  
“As to your daughter’s happiness, you would have married her off to that milksop Samwell Tarly had his father not sent him to the wall! Anything to keep your precious rose close to Highgarden. Do not raise your hopes that she will be retuning home to you; they are being sent to Braavos and then they will return to the capital.”  
Alerie threw Olenna a cross look then turned to Margaery with a smile.  
“They shall have to return to Highgarden at some point.”  
“Why? So the imp can provide everyone with fresh evidence of my son’s idiocy?”  
“Grandmother, I have told you before I would prefer it if you did not use that term to refer to Tyrion.”  
Margaery’s tone was pleasant but firm. Olenna snorted but said no more.

They stayed in the hall for a little while longer, Sansa glanced to one of the windows and saw that the sun was low. She touched Margaery’s arm.  
“I think we should depart for my chambers now.”  
Maragaery grinned at her and turned to her family.  
“Mother, Grandmother, I shall bid you both goodnight. I am to spend the evening with Sansa while Ser Jaime spends his with his brother.”  
“So we have the pleasure of a dinner with Tywin Lannister how lovely! Don’t look so down in the mouth, Alerie! Its only natural they want to compare notes on their respective grooms, in fact I’ll wager there are few women who would not wish to be privy to the details of Jaime Lannister’s wedding night!”  
Sansa was rendered speechless by the Olenna’s tirade and Margery’s eyes danced as she took her friend’s arm.  
“Come, sweet girl, we have much to talk about.”  
The two entered Sansa’s sitting room where her handmaids had laid out an selection of food and drink for the two women to sup upon. Sansa gave her friend a smile.  
“I have no doubt you will want to eat lightly considering the feast tomorrow. I must confess that these days I am always hungry, thanks to this little one.” She placed an affectionate hand on her stomach then lifted a plate from the table and spoke again:  
“I know we should really eat the proper food before we have sweetmeats, but I remember once you told me you had fondness for these. Particularly the pink ones, which is perfect because of course I prefer the yellow.”  
“Volantine Delights!”  
Margaery smiled at Sansa and took one of the rosewater flavoured squares and placed it in her mouth. They were a delicacy she particularly enjoyed, she remembered her brother presenting her with a small box on her last name day.  
“Sansa, these are not easy to come by, even in King’s Landing.”  
“No well, Jaime of course knows how I favour lemon cakes and the first time we had these I mentioned the lemon flavour was even more pleasing. Since then..”  
“Since then your loving husband has ensured you have them when you wish. Nothing is too good for his lady. Sansa, there is no need to look abashed, it is nothing less than you deserve in fact if he did not treat you in such a fashion he would have me to answer to!”  
Sansa smiled at Margaery’s good natured teasing, but her eyes remained serious.  
“It is true that Jaime can be very extravagant in his giving at times. I love him for it - of course I do but sometimes I worry that I… My life here is all I dreamed of as a child and more. But when I was a child I was silly and spoilt and it ended up costing me dear. Sometimes I am afraid that I am in danger of simply repeating the mistakes of my past.”  
Margaery looked at her friend, she suspected that in addition to wishing to avoid further hurt, Sansa’s feelings stemmed from the guilt she felt at being happy when the rest of her family had suffered so much. _You suffered too, sweet girl. None of it was your doing and I will not let you feel you have a debt to pay._  
“My sweet Sansa. You know when I first saw you in King’s Landing, I thought I’d never seen anyone so unhappy. The difference between then and now is striking. I can tell that you are happy here and that you and Jaime truly love each other and that makes me so very glad. As to repeating your past mistakes, was the love and happiness you share with your husband easily won? We both know it was not. It took courage and compassion from both of you and is the stronger for it. And that young girl in Winterfell, would she have managed the household here as diligently as you have? Would she have done her utmost to ensure that everyone loved her and quickly forgot she was the daughter of an enemy house? You have learnt from your past and even if this is not the house - or indeed the man your parents would have chosen to see you marry, they would be proud of your conduct, of that I have no doubt.”  
Sansa smiled at her friend and though the redhead felt tears prick her eyes, they did not fall. She took a breath and spoke again:  
“I am trying to learn, both from my past and the actions of others. I have plans to begin charity work amongst the fisherfolk of Lannisport. Within that community men are either lost to storms or the Ironborn - as my two younger brothers were. So we have that loss in common.” She paused and smiled fondly.  
“Jaime often seeks to tease me about my diligence but in truth he has devoted himself to the duties of a lord ever since we arrived. I am so proud of him Margaery, he is truly showing himself to be a man of substance.”  
Margaery was impressed by her friend’s words. She had never doubted that Sansa and Jaime would be loved in the Westerlands. One could not look at the pair without being reminded of childhood tales of knights and maidens. However, it seemed that both were also ensuring they won the respect of their banner men and household and she knew this would make their position far stronger. As if reading her friends thoughts Sansa turned to look her straight in the eye and spoke firmly:  
“I want the people here to accept Jaime and I for ourselves not simply because of Tywin Lannister.”  
There was a hardness to Sansa voice which was unsurprising given the fate of her mother and brother. Having no illusions regarding the Lannister patriarch’s opinion of Tyrion and knowing how her beloved had suffered at his hands, Margaery hardly held warm feelings for him herself. However, it was the eve of her wedding and she did not wish to dwell on serious subjects for too long. She turned to Sansa and smiled mischievously.  
“So, sweet girl, may I enquire which particular aspects of married life are more than you dreamed of as child?”  
She raised her eyebrows suggestively and Sansa laughed, unable to keep the blush from her cheeks.  
“I know what you are referring to, Margaery! I did not end up with this babe in my belly without learning a little more than I knew when we first met!”  
Sansa felt unsure of how to describe her intimate life with Jaime - although she did want to discuss it with Margaery: the older girl was the only female she could confide in regarding such matters. She sighed and spoke, a timid smile on her face:  
“When Jaime and I were married I had very little idea of what to expect on my wedding night or beyond that. Certainly I had no idea there were so many ways to join with a man or that the act could extend for such a long duration. Or would provoke such intense feelings within me.”  
Margaery smirked.  
“Often it does not. We are very complicated you know and pleasing us takes practice. You and I just happen to be lucky.”  
Sansa stared at her friend. She had always admired the air of nonchalance the Tyrell woman exuded. However, she did not think she had seen Margaery look quite so smug ever before. She spoke with scandalised amusement:  
“‘You and I’? You mean to say you and Tyrion have…”  
The other woman nodded her eyes dancing all the more.  
“Only the once mind you. Just before we left King’s Landing. I did not want to wait. I knew I loved him.”

As she spoke the last words, Margaery’s face acquired a tender, dreamy look. Sansa found she could not keep the smile from her face.  
“When you wrote to me after Joff died, I knew almost immediately that it was Tyrion you truly spoke of. I was so hopeful that you would both find a way to be together. And now you are both here and getting married tomorrow. You shall be my sister after all!” Sansa pulled Margaery into an embrace both women laughing for joy. Margaery beamed at her.  
“I know sometimes I cannot believe it myself. Had Joffrey not died I would be wed to him by now.” Sansa watched her friend’s face darken. Margaery turned serious eyes to her.  
“Sansa, neither Tyrion or I had an hand in the king’s death.”  
Sansa shrugged her face grim.  
“I would not care if you did, in fact I would thank you for it. He was a truly awful man.”  
Margaery looked into the distance.  
“I was foolhardy, Sansa, I thought at first I would be able to control him. But no one could, not really. Even Tywin Lannister could not make Joffrey behave as he wished.”  
“Margaery, no one was a bigger fool than I where Joffrey was concerned. My own father told me he would break our betrothal and I begged him not to! No one could have believed Joffrey was capable of the things he did until they saw them with their own eyes. I am just glad that we both have far better men to spend our days with now.”  
Margaery gave her a warm smile.  
“Yes we do. You always spoke well of Tyrion to me, even though when I was first in King’s Landing few others wanted anything to do with him. You always see the best in people don’t you, sweet girl?”  
“When it is there to be seen.”  
Sansa face looked harder than Margaery had ever seen it. She touched the redhead’s arm.  
“There are many who have wronged you and your family. One is cold in the ground. Of those left, who do hate the most?”  
“Cersei” The answer came instantly. Margaery decided to probe further.  
“Yet she has done you no direct harm. She did not plan the Red Wedding, I believe she intended your father’s life to be spared. Even Theon Greyjoy harmed your family more.”  
Sansa gave a bitter smile.  
“All that you say is true. The thing is, I do not even hate her most for the way she deceived and manipulated me. But she almost destroyed Jaime and she would take him from me even now if she could. That is why I hate her more than the rest.”  
Margaery leaned close to her friend and spoke in a similarly serious tone.  
“She almost destroyed Tyrion and even now she would if she could. I can assure you I hate her as much as you do. Sansa we have been good friends for some time now, on the morrow we shall be sisters. But first we were allies. Now we are in a better position than ever to help one another. And we shall.”  
Sansa looked directly at her and smiled. Then she spoke in a light tone:  
“Let us turn to more pleasant subjects, happy in my marriage as I am, I find my interest in tales of romance has returned keener than ever. How did the Littlest Lion win the heart of the Rose of Highgarden?”  
Margaery’s contented grin returned.  
“I am more than keen to tell you the tale, sweet girl, not least because it all started with another grand romance: The Young Lion and his She-Wolf”  
They smiled at each other and settled down to their gossip. 

Tyrion looked up at his brother, his face a picture of consternation.  
“Brother, you are surely not serious! Margaery and I barely had a minute alone together on the journey here. Last night I could not get near her due to the attentive affections of her mother! Now you are telling me I must spend tonight secluded with you?”  
“Tyrion! You wound me! I thought you would enjoy spending some time with your big brother.”  
Tyrion through Jaime a sour look. _Now I appreciate what you went through on the journey to Winterfell Jaime; seeing Cersei every day but unable to touch her._ There had been very little opportunity for Tyrion to relieve his frustrations on the journey to the Rock and the formal intimacies which were considered acceptable for a betrothed couple almost made things worse. His fiancée being the woman she was, he had frequently felt a soft foot slide up his leg when they were opposite each other at a dinner table and observed a look on her face which had made him yearn to climb over the bloody table and into her lap but of course that would hardly have been appropriate. It was true that there was a joy in this frustration; of wanting her and, despite not being able to have her, knowing that she wanted him too, knowing that she would be his soon. Compared with the despair he had endured imaging her laying with Joffrey or the torment he had subjected himself to when he was convinced she could never care for him, this was pleasurable. However Tyrion had been eager to avail himself of more satisfactory pleasure and was exasperated to learn that Jaime would not aid him in this.  
Jaime smirked at him.  
“You know perfectly well Sansa would never allow such scandalous behaviour. She has made it very clear to me that tonight she is the only one who will have Margery’s company.”  
“Ruled at home by his wife.” Tyrion muttered loud enough for his brother to her, Jaime smiled.  
“I highly recommend it, Tyrion.”  
Tyrion felt warmed inside by this exchange. He had never thought he would be in position to discuss affairs of the heart with Jaime on an equal footing. For so long Jaime had had Cersei, twisted as that relationship was, and Tyrion had no one. He spoke in a softer tone:  
“Jaime, I am so glad that you and Sansa managed to overcome everything and find happiness.”  
His brother gave him a warm look.  
“My wife is the most incredible woman I have ever met. Be assured I won’t risk losing her again. Now brother, if you will accompany me on a short walk, I have something I wish to show you.”  
“Aha! So you are taking me to Margaery after all! I knew you could not be so cruel to your baby brother.”  
Jaime grinned but said nothing as he lead Tyrion down a corridor. He opened a door to a small room. Tyrion was about to ask Jaime what was going on but then his eye was caught by the picture hanging on the wall. At first glance the woman looked like his sister; certainly her hair was the same shade of golden blonde and the red silk gown she wore could easily have been one of Cersei’s. But there was a restraint to the smile on the woman’s lips, her posture suggested pride and strength, but not the flaunting vanity of Tyrion’s sister. Although her eyes were green, the were larger and wider than Cersei’s; they looked more like his own eyes. He turned to Jaime, a lump in his throat making it hard to speak. Jaime smiled at him with eyes full of compassion.  
“I found this several weeks ago. Father should not have removed all the pictures of her from view. He was wrong to punish you for _our_ mother’s death. I am sorry I did not speak of her more Tyrion. It hurt to lose her. But I never blamed you for one second.”  
Now Tyrion’s eyes were full of tears, he had carried the burden of his mother’s death his whole life and knew it was as key to the hatred his father bore him as his stunted body. He also believed it to be the main reason for Cersei’s animosity toward him and although he had never doubted Jaime’s love, a part of him had always been scared his brother blamed him too. This had held him back from asking Jaime to talk about Joanna, even though at times he had desperately wanted to.  
“Jaime, I am so sorry.”  
“You have nothing to be sorry for, do you hear me?” Tyrion had never heard Jaime sound so fierce. He gazed into his brother’s eyes. Jaime gripped him shoulder.  
“I have never once regretted that you were my brother, never once. Gods Tyrion I am the one who should be sorry! I should have protected you better from Father and from Cersei. I owe you such a debt.”  
Now Tyrion gripped his brother back.  
“Jaime. There are no debts between us, there never have been and there never will be.”  
Their hands remained on each other's shoulder for several moments. Then Tyrion remembered the troubling realisation which had come to him the night before. He look at his brother gravely.  
“Jaime, I strongly suspect that Cersei has told father about her relationship with you.”  
Jaime looked at him aghast. Tyrion spoke worriedly:  
“The day of Joff’s death I went to speak with father and she was leaving as I arrived. They were both behaving very strangely - even by the standards of our family. I told you he has been keeping her from Tommen and that I was unsure why, I was watching him yesterday when Alerie Tyrell made that suggestion about your child marrying Tommen. Jaime his face was stone; if he did not think you were the boy’s father it would be him suggesting such a match! I think he has prevented Tommen from receiving your letters. I think he will do all he can to ensure you have nothing to do with Myrcella and Tommen in order to counter any risk of the truth coming out.”  
Jaime ran a hand over his face and exhaled.  
“Gods, Tyrion, what was she thinking?”  
“I suppose she feels it gives her some hold over father, she went to great lengths to try and avoid marriage to Loras Tyrell. I cannot be sure but I suspect that she is trying to blackmail him into maintaining her position at court. I think our sweet sister may have overestimated her lion taming abilities.”  
Jaime nodded but was silent. Cersei and his father could fight it out between them for all he cared. in that moment his mind and heart were fully occupied with his children and the perils he was now in even less of a position to protect them from. Tyrion seemed to read his thoughts.  
“Tommen can rely on me. Margaery and I will return to King’s Landing, I will ensure that he is not cut off from you completely brother and will always look to his interests.” Tyrion looked down.  
“I am truly sorry for the risk I have put Myrcella in. I was sure that the Martells had put the past behind them but since meeting Oberyn I am less certain.”  
“You were not the one who ordered the slaughter of women and children, brother.”  
Jaime spoke staunchly though worry for Myrcella gnawed at him and he had half a mind to ride straight to Dorne and carry her back to the safety of the Rock. He felt his brother’s hand on his arm again.  
“Jaime, we will not see them fall. We will not loose those we love. Not for anything. If any so much as try to harm them, they will rue their fucking name day.”  
Jaime smirked.  
“You always did have a way with words, little brother. Come let us away from this room, I believe the night before your wedding it is my duty to ply you with strong drink and reminisce on your past lascivious exploits, and I know that will take us quite some time.” Tyrion grinned and the brothers left the room, content to let their words stand as a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented.


	36. Wedded Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has bookmarked, left kudos or commented. I hope everyone enjoys Tyrion and Margaery's wedding : )

Tyrion drummed his fingers against the goblet in front of him and glanced down the table as he tried to not sigh. There was some wine in his cup but it was heavily watered and he was drinking it slowly, having no wish to become inebriated today. It was the morning of his wedding and as yet he had not laid eyes upon his bride. Despite the wedding taking place at Casterly Rock, they were following the custom of the Reach and Margaery was elsewhere breaking her fast with her mother, grandmother and cousins, whilst he was here with Mace Tyrell and his own family. This wedding breakfast was also were Tyrion received their wedding gifts. _All quite different from my last wedding_ he reflected sardonically. As Tyrion’s love for Margaery had grown, he found he felt less harrowed by the thought of Tysha but also more guilty. He had been old enough to know that even despised, dwarf Lannisters could not marry low born girls and had plenty of experience of how cruel his father could be. _Whore though she may have been, she did not deserve the fate that befell her._ For years he has clung to the idea that his brief first marriage would be the closest he would ever come to knowing love. But now he had Margaery and he loved her completely, the way he felt about Tysha was not love, he could see that now. He had been caught up in imaginings of himself as a hero; a saviour, he’d loved the way she looked at him, been in love with the idea of being in love. It was no more than youthful foolishness but considering how things had ended he could not help but reproach himself. More so now that his life had taken such a sudden turn for the better.  
Plates were removed from the tables and the presentation of gifts began. Tyrion was given his father’s gift of a set of Valarian steel daggers. _I can imagine what Lady Olenna would have said about your plans for these father._ Then came a gift from Mace Tyrell. A case of arbour gold, of a very rare vintage. _What perfect timing, just as I leave my days of heavy drinking behind._ Jaime and Sansa’s gift came next and all sarcastic musings were driven from Tyrion’s mind as the heavy tombe was placed before him. From his place at Tyrion’s left, Jaime smiled.  
“‘ _The Lives of Four Kings’_ I understand there are few copies in existence.”  
“Four.”  
\- Tyrion spoke quickly :  
“There are only four copies in existence.” He ran his hand gently across the leather binding. It was a book he had wanted to own for some time. He had been thinking of obtaining a copy to gift Joffrey with as a wedding present but had found as his feelings for Margaery grew he had not been able to bring himself to.  
“As rare as that? Perhaps it is not very good.”  
Jaime spoke in a light tone and Sansa swatted his arm playfully.  
“Tyrion, Jaime knows exactly how rare the book is. He spent quite some time trying to obtain a copy and was almost insufferably smug when he did.”  
Jaime shot his wife a playful frown and she raised her eyebrows.  
“Tyrion is my brother, Jaime, I am not about to deceive him.”  
“You, lady wife, are simply too honourable.”  
Tyrion watched their playful banter fondly. When the three had been together in King’s Landing it had warmed his heart to witness his brother and Sansa and to see the deep affection between them. Now with they joy of a love of his own, he found his feelings of happiness for the pair running stronger than ever. _Tyrion Lannister a hopeless romantic, who would have thought?_

Following the breakfast Tyrion returned to his rooms to change into his formal clothes before the ceremony. His preparations complete he was sitting with Podrick, when there was a knock at the door and Sansa was admitted. She gave him a warm smile.  
“Don’t you look handsome, brother?”  
“Ever the courteous lady, sweet sister. You however look glorious.”  
“Even with a belly as big as old king Robert’s?”  
Sansa’s voice chimed with laughter. The sparkle she had acquired in the early days of her marriage had returned and more. Tyrion felt when he looked at her that happiness shone from her person. The gown she wore that day was of a deep red silk, overlaid with layer upon layer of gauzy gold material, a choker of rubies was about her neck and her fiery red hair was held in braids, secured by a hairnet embellished with red and gold roses while masses of curls tumbled down her back. Despite her rounded stomach she was as poised and elegant as ever. She moved to sit beside Tyrion and grinned.  
“You were right, Tyrion, you told me things would get better for both of us.”  
“Did I? When? Was I drunk?”  
She laughed  
“Probably. It does not change the fact you were right.”  
“Sansa, I am so glad to see you happy.”  
“And I you. Margaery spoke of you at length last night.I would never have thought to see her look the way she does when she talks about you. She loves you very much, Tyrion.”  
It was similar to what Loras had told him on his last night in the capital. Tyrion could not help but feel pride that he, of all men, should be the one to capture the heart of the elusive Rose of Highgarden.  
“Tyrion”  
-Sansa began in a more serious tone:  
“Have you thought about the bedding?”  
“I have thought of little else.”  
He noticed her hand moving towards his head and ducked just in time.  
“You are so like your brother! I am referring to the ceremony, not…what comes after. I have not forgotten how you spared me of it when I wed Jaime, I thought it might be something you would also wish to forgo.”  
Tyrion grimaced, it was true that he hardly relished the prospect of being undressed by a collection of he and Margaery’s female relatives. Far less the idea of bold, strong men with their hands on his bride. However, he had resigned himself to this necessary evil. He gave his good sister a crooked smile.  
“I think on this occasion, there is no avoiding it. Happily our guests do not a include a maniac king. I must simply trust that you and your fellow ladies will be gentle with me, sweet sister; and that the lords present do not seek to end my life when the sight of my beautiful wife inflames them to jealousy.”  
Sansa smiled at his ironic tone but placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.  
“I meant it when I told you I was proud to call you my brother, I will not let anyone ridicule you. Although with Jaime’s protectiveness of you and Tywin’s protectiveness of the Lannister name I think anyone would be foolish to try. But Tyrion; remember many will be jealous of you. Not only are you marrying a beautiful woman, you’re also marrying the heiress to the second richest family in the Seven Kingdoms. I am afraid you are likely to experience more hostility than even you have been used to in the past. An awareness of its motivations should make it easier to bear.”  
Tyrion looked at his good sister. During the course of his life he had grown used to mockery and derision and certainly never expected to be the object of envy. He reflected on the truth of what she had said and it made him feel considerably more comfortable about the scrutiny he knew he would be placed under during the day ahead.  
“I always said you were far smarter than you let on.”  
“I’m starting to let on.”  
They smiled at each other then she rose to depart and kissed his cheek.  
“I shall see you in the sept.”

It was in the sept that he finally caught a glimpse of Margaery. He gazed at her as she walked towards him, her arm through her father’s. Her gown was white with a train of golden roses, thorned branch patterns trailing across the skirt and bodice. Her hair was piled onto her head with coils of roses and thorns. All the while her eyes never left his and Tyrion made no effort to keep the smile from his face. 

Margaery halted beside her groom, sure that the joyful expression he wore must be mirrored on her own countenance. The ceremony began and when the time came for him to cloak her, she knelt as her Tyrell maiden cloak was removed and replaced with a cloak of red and gold. It was the same one she had watched Jaime drape round Sansa’s shoulders so many months before. _Did I love you even then Tyrion? I rather think I did although I could not admit it even to myself._

It was not the first time Margaery had said these vows but it was the first time she had meant them. She looked deeply into Tyrion’s eyes, hoping to convey how heartfelt her words were.

 _I am his and he is mine from this day to the end of my days._

Perhaps their sealing kiss lasted a little longer than would be deemed proper, but Margaery still found it too short. However, she recognised it was promise of things to come. As their lips parted and she stood, she looked down at her husband. Tyrion’s face was alight with love and happiness. She gazed at his green eyes and the warmth that glowed in them, at the scar he was given in payment for his bravery and cleverness, at the tender smile she felt belonged to her and Margaery thought yet again that he was the only man she could ever truly love. 

As they exited the sept, she looked about her. She saw Sansa, leaning against Jaime, his arms around his wife both of them grinning ridiculously. Tywin Lannister stood beside them and she could not read his expression at all. She turned her eyes to her own family. Her mother was in tears and her father was not far behind. Olenna’s eyes were of course dry and her face was straight, however Margaery could see a smile fighting to appear on the Queen of Thorns’ lips. 

As soon as they were seated in the carriage which would take them back to the Rock, she threw her arms around Tyrion.  
“Husband.”  
“Wife”  
Their lips met in a prolonged and passionate kiss. Margaery broke away and glanced at him wickedly.  
“Do you think we could forgo the feast and make our way straight to our bedchamber?”  
“My wanton wife! We could certainly try, but I think it would be frowned upon. Besides which I am eager to show off my beautiful bride.”  
Margaery rested her head on his shoulder.  
“I suppose I have waited this long, several more hours will not kill me. Particularly if we put the rest of our time in here to good use.”  
Tyrion grinned, a lustful gleam in his eyes, and no more was said until they arrived at Casterly Rock. 

Seated at the centre of the feast table, Tyrion noticed that both his wife and his good sister were in far better spirits than either had been at the latter’s wedding. Far from picking at her food, Sansa frequently entreated Jaime to fill her plate with various dishes, rolling her eyes and grinning at his teasing on the matter.  
“You know, my love, I really find it remarkable that this child of ours should love lemon cakes so much.”  
“Why do you, Jaime? They take after their mother in this respect.”  
Sansa then placed a hand on her stomach as the babe moved.  
“And judging by their fondness for lunging, they will have a love of sword fighting to rival their father.”  
Tyrion’s heart warmed as he watched his brother’s face soften at Sansa’s words. He thanked the gods that finally, Jaime had a child he could call his own. 

Sansa smiled at Margaery.  
“Your necklace is beautiful, good sister, was it a wedding gift?”  
“Yes it was, from my lord husband.”  
Margaery gave Tyrion a fond look and rested her hand on the heavy gold pendant. It was a golden lion with a single ruby eye, curled about a golden rose, centred with emeralds. She turned back to Sansa.  
“I adore your hairnet, I presume it was a gift from your husband.”  
“It was! How did you know.”  
Margaery glanced at Jaime and smirked.  
“Why the roses, I thought he’d find a way to crown you queen of love and beauty.”  
Sansa flushed as Lady Olenna spoke up.  
“Do you plan to hold a tourney to celebrate the birth of the babe?”  
Sansa’s face lit up with a grin but then she quickly schooled her features and glanced at Jaime.  
“We have not discussed it, my lady.”  
Her husband was clearly not fooled by her attempts to hide her delight at the idea and Jaime placed his arm around his wife and smiled.  
“I think it an excellent suggestion. Sansa, I must insist that you give me the chance to be your champion and place a crown of roses upon your head.”  
“If Loras does not defeat you again, good brother.”  
Margaery cut in teasingly. Olenna threw Tywin a wry glance.  
“What say you, Lord Tywin? A needless extravagance?”  
“Justified in this case, my lady.”  
Tyrion watched Tywin look at Jaime, noticing some softness creeping into his father’s gaze. _He could truly forgive Jaime anything._ Tyrion felt a familiar stab of resentment but it was less strong than it would have been in the past. He glanced at Margaery, _his_ Margaery, stunning in her wedding gown, happiness evident in her every look and word, and he reflected that there were far better things in life than being Tywin Lannister’s favourite son. On a more practical level, it also occurred to him that if Tywin could not sustain his ire against Jaime for his relationship with Cersei, his father’s displeasure with his sister would only increase.  
Olenna spoke again:  
“You surprise me, Lord Tywin. From what I remember you were not so fond of tourneys during your last stint as Hand of the King.”  
Tywin’s face was inscrutable.  
“Times have changed.”  
“And we thank the Gods for it.”  
Tyrion had been following this exchange with interest, when his attention was diverted by Margery’s hand on his thigh. His wife’s eyes danced with mischief as she enquired in a innocent voice:  
“Do you take an interest in tourneys, my lord husband?”  
The expression on her face told him that Margaery enjoyed bestowing the title upon him as much as he enjoyed hearing it.  
“I take an interest in watching my brother win.”  
“As do I, although, I must confess, they can be rather wearisome.”  
“You do not find all those handsome knights a diversion?”  
If Tyrion was looking for a compliment, he was not to be disappointed. His bride made a face.  
“I know such things excite many young ladies. I prefer other displays of prowess.”  
She leaned closer to him and murmured in his ear:  
“For example, the day you met with my family, Cersei and Joffrey to negotiate payment for the wedding. You managed to mock the king, insult your sister and place my grandmother in a position where she had no option but to accept your terms. I was so affected by your performance that I had to retire directly to my chambers and take myself in hand.”  
Tyrion exhaled sharply and eyed her for a moment a smile coming to his lips.  
“Have I told you I am madly in love with you?.”  
“Frequently. But it does not hurt to hear it again.”

As the feast finished, Margery’s mother enquired whether the newly married couple would begin the dancing. Tyrion grinned lopsidedly.  
“I fear not, my lady. Whilst I am able to dance, after a fashion, I certainly do not have the skill to do your beautiful daughter justice. I shall defer to my older brother on this occasion.”  
Margaery rolled her eyes.  
“I am afraid this is something you have to get used to regarding Lannisters, mother. They only engage in activities where they are sure they will excel.”  
“You are quire right, lady wife.” Replied her husband before adding in an undertone.  
“Which is why I have determined to conserve my energies for later.”  
Margaery returned his smirk and inwardly hoped that later would come quickly. 

Margaery and Jaime took to the floor and began to dance. He grinned at her.  
“Enjoying your wedding, good sister?”  
“It has been wonderful. I hope Sansa and yourself have not been put to too much trouble making the arrangements?”  
“Not at all, I did very little in truth, and Sansa relished every minute of it.”  
Jaime’s face became earnest.  
“Margaery, I cannot tell you what it means to me to see my brother so happy.”  
The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes moved her.  
“Jaime, once - on a far less happy evening- I told Tyrion that I could not believe he was such a good man when he came from such a family. He told me that he did not know what he would be without you. Since then, I have learnt far more about him and his past… Jaime, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. For Tyrion. For loving your brother as a brother should. Because, I love him more than anyone in the world and, if he had not had you… I don’t know if there would be anything left of him by now.”  
She looked away then, she could feel tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Jaime said nothing but he gripped her slightly harder and when the music came to and end, he held her gaze and gave her a small nod and a sad smile. Margaery took a deep breath. She could see Tyrion and Sansa laughing together, but she decided it would be best to fully gain command of herself before approaching her husband. Across the room her grandmother was seated with several of her cousins and she made her way to them. Margaery was amused to note how the two girls used her appearance to depart, eagerly heading towards a pair of young Lannister knights. Olenna eyed them sardonically.  
“It seems these golden lions are irresistible.”  
“Yes, perhaps you should approach Lord Tywin.”  
Said Margaery innocently. Her grandmother smirked.  
“Enjoying your wedding?”  
“Far more than my last one.”  
“I have no doubt the wedding night will also be a vast improvement.”  
Her grandmother raised her eyebrows. Margery sought to chance the subject, she remembered a conversation she had overheard at the feast.  
“Grandmother, what did you mean when you spoke of Lord Tywin not enjoying tourneys?”  
“Ah, well, I have no doubt that I spoke out of turn there. Happy as I am for you, child, you must appreciate it is somewhat galling how all of this has gone his way, someone needs to take him down a peg or to when they can.”  
Olenna took a sip of wine and continued:  
“The Mad King held a tourney to celebrate his tenth year on the Iron Throne. Aerys was drunk and he humiliated Joanna Lannister in front of everyone. Tywin attempted to resign the handship the next day but the king would have none of it. Aerys always found sport in taunting Tywin and he always had an eye for Lady Joanna.”  
Margaery thought of her husband’s dead mother with a pang. She could well sympathise with the experience of unwanted attention from a drunken, leering king. _Thank the Gods Joffrey died before I became his bride._ She shook herself back to the present, her eyes searched out Tyrion and she she felt a rush of love and affection course through her.  
“Come, grandmother, I have been away from my husband too long.”  
Olenna rolled her eyes but Margaery could see the same smiled fighting to appear on her lips as she had witnessed in the sept and her grandmother passed no comment as they made their way to Tyrion. 

Despite maintaining his sober status without difficulty, Tyrion found the reception passed in something of a blur. Keen as he was to have his bride all to himself, it still felt rather too soon when calls began for the bedding. Margaery flashed him a wicked smile and was as poised as ever as she was lifted onto Jaime and Daven’s shoulders and carried from the hall. Tyrion felt Sansa’s hand on his own arm and quickly found himself at the centre of a bevy of his and Margaery’s cousins. He was more or less lifted from his feet and soon felt his shoes come off. He also lost his doublet and breeches on the journey but before things went any further, Sansa fixed the other women present with a glacial stare and passed a comment about dignified conduct befitting of ladies. Tyrion had never felt more grateful to Catelyn Stark and her insistence that her daughter be educated by a septa, than he did in that moment. 

His own journey to the bedchamber had been hurried and he arrived shortly before his bride. He was surprised to see her still fully dressed and completely unruffled; until he caught sight of Jaime’s grim expression and felt a rush a gratitude towards his elder brother. Margaery hopped elegantly from the two Lannisters' shoulders and turned to her escort with a comical half bow.  
“Thank you for ensuring my husband and I arrived at our chambers safely. You may leave us now.”  
“Hardly a proper bedding. How are we to know you are truly married?”  
Margaery shot a sugary smile in the direction the query had come from.  
“We are Lannisters, dear boy, you will hear us roar.”  
Her statement was greeted with laughter and Jaime’s grim expression lifted as he raised his eyebrows at Tyrion and grinned. 

When the group had departed, Tyrion turned to his wife and let his eyes travel over her person.  
“I did not expect you to arrive in our bedchamber in such an unruffled state, wife.”  
“Neither did I. It would seem that times have indeed changed and these days Jaime Lannister has no desire at all to see his sister out of her clothes.”  
He sniggered at her jape but was more preoccupied with drinking in the site of her. She too was staring at him and the tension between them was palpable. Margaery raised her eyebrows and spoke with mock concern.  
“Touched as I am by my new brother’s protectiveness, it does present me with something of a problem. When I commissioned this dress I had not envisaged having to remove it myself.”  
“Who said you would be removing it yourself?”  
Margaery’s breath caught in her throat at the gravely voice he used to ask. She moved towards the bed and sat down upon it, her gaze never leaving his. Tyrion passed her and climbed onto the bed behind her. He could already feel desire pulsing through him, he wanted to have her, to be hers and to make her his, completely and finally. But more than that, he wanted to love her, to give expression to the feelings that rose up within him when he was with her, when he thought of the two of them together. It was this deeper desire that allowed him to move with almost painstaking slowness. He positioned himself behind his bride on the bed and slowly removed the first of the golden roses from her hair. He gently lifted the chestnut curls it held and slowly ran them through his fingers as they tumbled down her back. He moved to the next clasp, his hand brushing over her ear and down her neck. When her hair was completely loose she shook it out and turned to him with a wide smile. She gathered her mane of hair over one shoulder and he set to work on the fastenings of her dress about her neck. When those were undone he kissed his way slowly and deliberately from one shoulder to the other. his lips on her neck and back, drawing gasps and sighs from her. His hands moved to her front and he shrugged the dress to her waist, running his fingers gently over her hardened nipples relishing the way she cried out and pressed her back into him. He moved her round to face him and kissed her on the lips fully and deeply. She pressed herself against him, biting his lips grasping at his hair and shoulders. Tyrion ran his hands down to his wife’s waist, pushing her gown towards her hips. They broke from their kiss gasping, Margery’s lips were swollen and her eyes were full of want. He motioned for her to lie and when she had he crouched down near her hips and pulled her dress off completely. He continued to run his hands across her waist, planting brief kisses on her thighs and atop her silken small clothes, he could feel her arousal through them and that set his pulse racing. She was moaning his name know, curling forward to grasp at his hair. He slid her underclothes down her legs and set his mouth to her cunt. 

“Mmm oh yes! Tyrion yes! Oh I love you!”

Tyrion moved his mouth towards her bundle of nerves, placing his fingers inside her. He was entranced by his bride’s desire and how competely he could feel it. As he drove her to a prolonged and intense climax, she gabbed at him and called his name so loudly he wondered if the newest lioness would indeed be heard by all their wedding guests. 

Margaery rested her head back on the pillow, shut her eyes and took several shuddering breaths. When she was recovered enough to look up at Tyrion she saw he was gazing at her with a mixture of pride and lust and she loved the way he looked in that moment.  
“I think you are somewhat over dressed for what will come next, husband.”  
His smirk matched her own and she raised herself onto her knees and unfastened his shirt, pulling it over his head. Soon they were both naked and she gave him a long look.  
“Just as pleasing as I remembered.”  
She could see he did not doubt her words and she was glad of it. She pulled him into another lingering kiss and gently pushed him down onto the bed, she was now atop him, the tendrils of her hair falling across his chest and shoulders. She grasped his long hard cock in one hand and placed her other hand at her entrance then coated his member in her wetness, delighted by the effect this action had on Tyrion. She parted her legs and pushed him inside of her then began to move atop him, looking straight into his eyes. 

They began to move slowly at first but soon with an intensity that spoke of their longing, Margaery leaned down towards Tyrion and his hands grabbed roughly at her breasts. She felt heated coiling in her belly for the second time that night and every thrust brought stronger waves of pleasure. She was all but chanting her husband’s name revelling in the groans and growls that came from his own lips. At the point of completion their lips met in a long kiss.

Margaery slid off her husband and moved to his side, Tyrion was quick to grab her face and kiss her again, a sweet sated kiss this time. When they broke apart he gave her a warm contented smile.  
“I love you, lady wife.”  
“I love you too, lord husband. Gods Tyrion that was amazing.”  
Margaery had not been unacquainted with the pleasures which could be gained from physical love, but in the face of the burning and consuming passion she felt when she and Tyrion made love her past experience seemed like chlld’s play. Now Tyrion was looking at her in a deliciously wicked way, a smile playing on his lips.  
“It was… a start.”  
Margaery smirked and brushed her hand along his leg, pleased to find his member already stiffening once more. He raised an eyebrow.  
“I have a month of self denial to make up for, my love.”  
“We both do, darling, and this time you have no excuse to turn me from your bed, although I suspect you will be no less keen to keep me from my sleep.”  
“You shall have plenty of sleep, wife, in due course.”  
He pulled her to him and soon they were wrapped up in each other once more.


	37. The Words of our House

Tyrion lay in bed, feeling the ship gently sway on the waves and hearing the sound of the sea faintly. He wondered if the gentle motion of the vessel had been what had caused him to sleep so soundly thus far on the voyage; grinning to himself as he reflected a more likely culprit for the absence of his usual insomnia was to be found beside him. He turned his head to take in the sight of his sleeping wife. Margery’s face wore an expression which was becoming delightfully familiar, Tyrion could best describe it as debauched and satisfied. It called to his mind the previous night. Less than two weeks after his marriage, Tyrion could not imagine ever turning his eye to another woman. His previous sexual experiences had varied in almost all respects, however all had been about possession, about him wanting some scrap or semblance of love to belong to him. Whilst his desire for Margaery continued to be keener and stronger than any he had experienced before, the difference was that he also felt wanted and valued by her, the feeling took a little getting used to. However, Tyrion had had plenty of experience with life’s more bitter lessons, he was prepared to be diligent in his study of the sweet one he was currently being taught. 

Margaery stirred and opened her eyes to see her husband gazing down at her, his eyes soft and a smile on his lips. She felt happiness warm her as she had every morning since they wed, she gave him a contented grin and placed a hand on his face.

“Good morning, handsome husband.”  
“Good morning, beautiful bride.”

He leant down and kissed her lips, gently running his tongue over them until she opened her mouth. Her hand moved from his face to his mop of hair which she pulled on gently as he ran his fingers lightly down her side. Their kiss became more passionate as he braced himself atop her. She began to run her nails lightly down his back, smirking at his gasps.

“I thought you were my rose without a thorn.”

Margaery gave him a look filled with intensity.

“No you didn’t. That’s what everyone else thinks, that’s what I want them to see. But you see thorns and the petals, and you love me for it. Just as I see you for who you are, and love you for it.”

She kept her eyes on him and hoped vehemently that he would accept what she had said with sincerity and not deflect it with a quip. Happily, although there was smile on her husband’s face, it was open and genuine, not twisted and sarcastic. She knew it was not easy for him to open himself up, even to her, but she also knew that she needed him to try. She felt a bolt of pure delight as he stroked her face and murmured:

“We are perfect for each other.”

He pulled her into a gentle, loving kiss. When their lips parted Tyrion spoke in a voice that was slightly hoarse:

“You incredible creature, I am still not entirely sure I didn’t dream you into life.”

“Let’s see what I can do to convince you I’m real…”  
With a wicked expression on her face, Margaery moved a hand to his hardened member and gripped it lightly. Tyrion gave a low growl and his own hands moved to her pert breasts, his fingers on her nipples soon drawing mews from her lips. Before long he was inside her, both of them running their hands and lips over whatever part of the other’s body they could reach, coupling with passionate urgency, almost in competition as to which would succeed in providing their spouse with the most intense moment of completion. 

Their lovemaking over, the pair lay on the bed awhile longer sharing long, deep kisses and caresses. Eventually, Margaery lifted herself elegantly from the bed and throwing a robe over her shoulders, made her way the cabin’s small dressing table. She looked in the mirror, raised a hand to her chestnut curls and turned to Tyrion with a humorous frown.

“Look at this tangled mess! Rosa will not thank me for the time it will take to put this right.”

“Allow me.” Tyrion made the offer quickly and jumped from the bed pulling on a robe of his own. He gave his wife a smile. 

“I am not suggesting I can dress your hair, my love, but I can certainly run the brushes through it.”

He could tell Margaery was pleased by his offer. Tyrion wanted to do things like this for his wife very much. To participate in everyday acts of domestic intimacy. Margery sat in front of the mirror and he picked up the brush, beginning to move it through her soft, thick hair with long strokes. 

“The things you can do with those hands, Tyrion Lannister.”

He grinned at her suggestive tone.

“I do not think I have paid such attention to your hair since the night of our wedding.”

Margaery smiled at the memory.

“Yes, Jaime was very fierce with the men, I did not so much as lose a shoe or a hair clip did I?”

“Beddings don’t go down well with Lannister men, my love.”

“I imagine they don’t.” Margaery remembered the envy she had experienced when she had seen how Jaime looked at Sansa as if the sun rose and set in his wife’s eyes. Now she recognised a similar depth of feeling in the way her own husband looked at her and she treasured it. Hard as it was to imagine such surrendered devotion from Tywin Lannister, Margaery reflected that even her grandmother had remarked upon the Old Lion’s deep love for his late wife. She pushed her musings aside and glanced at Tyrion, noting a distracted frown on his face. Worried that her husband was reliving painful memories, she touched his hand.

“Tyrion? What are you thinking about, love?”

“Oh, nothing too terrible. I was remembering a conversation I overheard between my uncles when I was a boy. When my parents married, during the bedding ceremony the Mad King… took certain liberties.” 

“My grandmother mentioned to me how Aerys was with your mother. It cannot have been easy for your father to bear.”

Tyrion was silent as memories rushed through his mind, forming a coherent picture. He thought of his uncles’ conversation, he had only been a boy at the time and had hardly understood what they meant. He heard Joffrey’s voice, first hysterical with frightened rage: _“You will pay for this Jaime Lannister!”,_ then blustering to Oberyn Martell: _“It is I who should be congratulated.”_ He thought of the intense anger he’d seen in Tywin’s eyes on the night of Jaime and Sansa’s wedding, and again the night of Joffrey’s boast to the Dornish prince. Tywin’s voice resolute and steely: _“This is about House Lannister, I will not have us dragged through the mud.”_

Tywin who had held his stomach and suppressed coughs while Tyrion, Cersei and Joffrey were doubled up and staggering. Tywin who was supposedly bed bound but was able to make his way to the Tyrell apartments fully clothed and commanding the minute he heard of Margaery and Loras’s attempted arrests. 

“Margaery, my father killed Joffrey.”  
“What?”  
“The night we had word of Sansa’s pregnancy, after you left the table, Joffrey… the little fucker implied that the babe could be his. Remember he joked he’d taken her the day she and Jaime left King’s Landing?”

Margaery stared at her husband, her mind also working. 

“Your father would not stand by and allow rumours about Jaime’s child to spread. He would suffer none shaming House Lannister, not even the king. He already suffered the slights and aspersions of one mad king.”

“Exactly! This time he was in a position to take action, and he did. Gods, how did I not see it sooner? He was far less affected than any of the rest of us at that table.”

Tyrion shook his head and grinned.  
“The sly old bastard. Really I cannot help but admire him, Kinslaying should see him cursed throughout the land, instead he has everything he ever wanted.” He chuckled bitterly. His wife frowned.

“Tyrion, you cannot think it funny that your father…”

“That he what? Tried to kill me? Oh, but I am sure he did not. If Tywin Lannister tries to kill you, you will be killed, as any number of corpses could testify were they not dead. No I have no doubt my father ensured Joffrey perished and was indifferent to the fate of Cersei and myself and really indifference is more than an Imp-“

“Stop!” 

Margaery had grabbed both his shoulders and was staring into his eyes fiercely

“I have made it very clear I will suffer no one using that term to refer to you, Tyrion, and that includes yourself. Please, my love, don’t hide behind bitter jests, not with me.”

Tyrion gazed at her, he felt as if his heart was too big for his chest, every single wall he had build to defend himself from the hurt and hate which had so often been his lot were being torn down by Margaery, one by one. Sometimes he felt he wanted to curl up and hide from her, to push her away before he ended up loosing her. But then he remembered the times he had tried to push her away before and how wretched it had made him feel. He took both her hands in his.

“Margaery I am sorry. It is a habit of a lifetime, and one that I am trying to change. I know there have been times in past when I have pushed you away and I beg your forgiveness for that. I have wanted you for so long, my love, and I am not used to getting what I want. Sometimes I am scared but I am facing those fears, I swear to you I am.”

As he spoke the words, he could see with clarity how much more likely he was to loose her love through his defensiveness than through any of his own perceived deficiencies. He felt almost elated with relief when she pulled him to her.

“You must face those fears, Tyrion, but not alone, never again alone.”

The held each other tightly for a minute then she pulled away and looked at him.  
“How do you feel?”

Tyrion sighed:  
“I feel… a fool. Because even now I still care what he thinks of me, because I did not realise he was behind all this sooner and once again pushed you away. Because I do not know what I should do now, whether I should tell Jaime of this when we return, whether anyone else will also realise my father killed Joffrey and what anyone else realising will mean. Because I don't know how I will feel when I see him again. But, I do know that, however unintended, our marriage was a consequence of this plot and I also know that you, my love, will be by my side facing everything that comes of this with me. So in answer to your question…Lucky, I feel lucky.”

Margaery’s eyes blazed.  
“You are. Lucky and loved, so so loved.”  
Tyrion pulled her into an intense kiss. Margaery wrapped her arms around him, feeling she could not hold him tightly enough. Margaery Tyrell had never been greatly taken with handsome knights. The thought came to her now that such men were useless against the twisted plotting of King’s Landing. The man she held in her arms was a different matter entirely. Her quick witted, kind hearted, fighter of a husband was the only champion she would ever need. She thought of what Sansa had said to her the day before she wed Jaime; her friend’s fear that a crown would bring only bitterness to Margaery. In weeks following her marriage, Margaery had become convinced that if she had not wed Tyrion, her heart may indeed have hardened more than she would have wished. Playing the game was all very well, but it was infinitely better now that she had someone by her side who saw her for who she truly was and loved her for it. As she and Tyrion parted lips, Margaery shut her eyes and held him to her. She was glad that Highgarden would be their’s; that she could keep him away from the lion’s den if she needed to. She would not let anyone tear him apart and together they would triumph.  
_We will grow strong and you will hear us roar._

Sansa’s eyes sprung open, immediately she was wide awake. In the last few months of her pregnancy, disturbed sleep had become the norm; she always had to empty her bladder at least once during the night. However, this was different, the cramping pains she had been aware of intermittently throughout the day were upon her again and were stronger than before. _This is it, the babe is on its way._ She carefully eased herself out of the bed and padded quietly to the small sitting room next door to the bedroom. She opened the shutters and gazed out. Sansa did not wish to wake her husband just yet. In the later stages of her pregnancy, Jaime’s aunt had spoken to her of her own experiences of childbirth and Maragery’s mother had been only too happy to provided lengthy accounts of Margaery and Loras’s arrivals during her stay at the Rock. Sansa knew that these early pains could continue for hours. She also felt that she wanted some time alone with her thoughts. Just as before her wedding to Jaime, she felt the absence of her mother keenly, and she could not tell if the ache felt sharper because her mother was gone forever, or because she felt anxious about going to the birthing bed. _Surely she would have come to me, for all the child I carry is a Lannister._ Sansa wanted to believe this was true, but there were times when she could almost feel her mother’s judgemental gaze upon her, when she feared that if not Catelyn then perhaps Robb or Arya would have wished that she and this child would perish. Another spasm of pain came and she held her belly and hissed, they seemed to be coming more and more rapidly and she had the impression that her labour was progressing quickly. Her thoughts turned to Jaime, they had spoken about his presence in the birthing chamber and he had told her that he would do whatever made her feel most comfortable. Sansa was still somewhat scandalised by the idea. It was, she reflected so typical of the three Lannister siblings; one thing they all had in common was a willingness to behave in a way likely to incite the disapproval of those around them. Sansa could not think of a time when she had acted without full consideration to whether the deed was proper, and although she had come to question much of what she had learnt as a child, this remained. A key part of her success as Lady of the Rock had been doing what was expected of her, not praying to the Old Gods, not displaying Stark colours. What would anyone think if Jaime joined her as she laboured? Would it call to mind the fact he had been present for the births of Cersei’s children and add credence to the rumours that those children where his? 

As these thoughts were upon her, Sansa felt the pain in her stomach stronger than ever. Up to now the pangs had not been worse than what she felt during her monthly bleed but this was far sharper and also lasted for at least a minute. _It is not supposed to happen this quickly. Gentle mother, help me._ At that moment she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to face her husband.

“Sansa?”  
“Jaime, I think its time.”  
She looked into his green eyes, the reassurance she saw there calming her. Sansa had spent much of her pregnancy seeking to assuage Jaime’s worries. She knew the death of his mother had left a deep impression on him and had hesitated to voice any fears of her own. Now though all she could do was look at him with wide eyes, and grimace as another pang hit her. She closed her eyes and felt him pull her to him. Then she heard his voice, strong and reassuring.  
“You’re alright sweet girl, you’re alright. Now, has that one passed? Sansa, look at me. Everything will be fine, you are so strong, you will get through this and before too long you will be holding our babe in your arms. Wait there, I will bring you your robe and we can walk about, it will make the pain easier to bear. I will call for the Maester too.”  
Jaime’s calm voice was in conflict with his inner turmoil, but he knew that this was what Sansa needed from him. The birth of this child was something he had dreaded and dreamed of for weeks now. If all went well he would have a family, a child the world would know was his, a child that was his and Sansa’s. He would have made some kind of recompense to her for the family which had been taken from her. But Jaime was only too aware that all may not go well. 

Having woken his squire and sent the lad to rouse Creylen, he returned to his wife who was pacing in their sitting room a hand in the small of her back. She turned to him with a faint smile and he was once again reminded of how strong Sansa was. Her smile dropped and her eyes squeezed shut, he swiftly moved to her side and placed his arms around her. After a second she spoke shakily.  
“The pains are already becoming hard to bear, I…I am not sure I can do this.”  
“Of course you can, my love, each pain brings you one step closer to seeing the baby.”  
“That is…easy for you to say.”  
They smiled at each other, the door opened and Maester Creylen entered with several women.  
“Lady Sansa, if you could please lie on your bed we will examine you and determine how far the labour has progressed.” Sansa complied and after a few minutes the older of the women spoke:  
“This babe will be born very soon, your labour is moving fast m’lady.”  
The Maester turned to Jaime.  
“Ser Jaime, I will ensure you are kept well informed, I presume you will be found in your solar?”  
“No! I want him here with me!”  
Sansa saw the raised brows of the midwives and Creylen’s questioning look to Jaime. Suddenly, she could not care less for what was proper, she was anxious and in pain. These sensations were all too familiar from her time in King’s Landing. But she was not in King’s Landing and she was not alone. She looked into her husband’s eyes, the person she loved and trusted above all others, and knew she needed him. He gave her a nod and smile.  
“Very well, lady wife, let’s get this cub of ours born.”

Jaime sat on the bed, Sansa leaning against him, his arms supporting her. It had still been night when Creylen bade his wife to return to the bed and now the sun had risen. However, he could tell the birth was close and Sansa would not be subjected to a labour which would last days. His wife gave a groan and the midwife smiled.  
“Almost there m’lady, one final push and the head will be here.”  
Sansa cried out and gripped his hands, Jaime’s heart was hammering in his chest, he couldn’t think and found himself focusing in breathing in the way his wife had been told to. Several moments later Sansa gasped.  
“That’s it m’lady, the heads born, now bide your time until I give you the word…push, now, push.”  
Sansa collapsed back against him, completely limp. Jaime saw a small, pink shape lifted by one of the midwives, she handed it to the maester who ran his hands over it then turned to Jaime looking as happy as he had ever seen him.  
“You have a healthy son.”  
“A son? I have a son?”  
Jaime felt overwhelmed, he watched as Creylan passed the babe to Sansa, his wife was sobbing as she cradled the infant.  
“Hello my, beautiful boy.”  
She turned a glowing face to Jaime.  
“Will you hold your son, Jaime?”  
“I think it would be best, Ser Jaime, we need to make sure your wife passes the afterbirth.”  
Sansa handed him the babe and Jaime gazed at him, the rest of the room faded away. He looked down at the tiny, perfect boy, as yet completely bald, who looked back at him with wide, blue eyes. Jaime felt a lump in his throat as well as a smile he could not have rid his face of even if he had felt like trying. After a while, babe began to squirm and move his lips, Jaime brought him to Sansa.  
“I think our boy may be hungry.”  
The midwives helped Sansa bring the child to her breast. Jaime eyed his wife anxiously but although she looked exhausted she did not seem fevered or unduly weak. She gave him a radiant smile.  
“We have a son.”  
He perched himself beside her on the bed, planting a kiss on her forehead.  
“Sansa, I love you.”  
“I love you too.”  
She sighed and moved herself closer to him.

Later in the day, Sansa awoke to the sound of bells. Smiling to herself, she turned on her side, her eyes going straight to the small cradle beside the bed where a bundle of joy was wrapped in crimson and gold. Her handmaiden was seated near the door and as Sansa stirred she came forward.  
“Shall I bring you the baby, m’lady?”  
“No let him sleep. Where is my husband?”  
“He should be back shortly, m’lady, he went to see about the bells and to send ravens.”  
_Of course, Tywin Lannister must hear of his continued legacy._ Sansa could not help but feel bitter, the man who would now derive satisfaction from the news of the birth of his grandson, had ensured Sansa’s mother never lived to see the boy. She thought of how the Old Lion was now keeping Jaime from Tommen, Tyrion had taken a letter from Jaime to the boy but he would not be able to deliver it until his return from Braavos. Sansa glanced at her own sleeping son, feeling a wave of protectiveness flow through her. Tywin Lannister would not be allowed to use this child as a pawn in his games. One of the first things Jaime had ever told her was how he admired her mother’s devotion to her children. Sansa would be just as devoted to this child and any others she bore. The difference would be that her devotion would be sharpened by the brutal lessons she had learned in King’s Landing. He parents had enjoyed the luxurious illusion of security that peaceful years in the North had provided and though lying in her chambers, gazing at her perfect firstborn Sansa felt more at peace than she ever had, she knew this peace was something she must fight for rather than expect as her due. 

She looked up as the door opened and a beaming Jaime entered, carrying a plate. She grinned at him.  
“What have you there?”  
“Let’s call it a name day cake for our little one.”  
“I think he’s a little young for cake, also he is currently sound asleep.”  
Jaime threw the infant a fond look and turned to Sansa’s handmaiden.  
“Have you seen my son? Is he not the most handsome babe you have laid eyes on?”  
“Indeed he is, m’lord.”  
The girl smiled at them and dropped a curtsy before departing. Jaime advanced to his wife and kissed her, before fixing her with a gleeful smile.  
“I took him to show Kevan and Dorna while you were asleep, and my cousins, I shall have to show him to the whole household soon.”  
“Jaime! He is not the only babe ever to come into the world.”  
“He is the only one who is ours.”  
They shared a loving look. Then she said mischievously:  
“As I have already given you a child today, husband, I am at something of a loss as to what more you require before I may have a slice of that lemon cake.”  
“You would steal your own child’s name day cake?”  
Sansa said nothing and raised her eyebrows. Smiling sweetly as Jaime moved to cut her a slice.  
“Of course, on his name day he does need a name.”  
“I told you long ago, wife, you can give him any name you see fit.”  
Sansa pondered, knowing the truth of Jaime’s past, she had long ago abandoned the notion of having a son named Robb. As far as other northern names went, she knew they were not appropriate for a future warden of the west and also doubted her father would thank her for the tribute of a son named Eddard Lannister. She looked at Jaime and smiled.  
“As it happens I do have a name in mind, and while I thank you for allowing me the choice, I am sure we will be of a mind on this. I want to call him after someone who means much to both of us. Someone who he will be proud to be named for. Someone who I know will love and protect him in the same way that we will. Jaime, I would like to name our son Tyrion.”  
Jaime’s face had lit up.  
“Truly?”  
Sansa nodded and laughed as he pulled her into a kiss. Jaime pulled away with a smirk.  
“I would love to see Tyrion’s face when he hears the news, he might actually be speechless.”  
Just then the babe stirred, Sansa began to raise herself from the bed, but Jaime put a hand on her arm, an eager expression on his face.  
“Allow me, my love.”  
Sansa watched, her heart melting, as her husband approached the crib and tentatively lifted their son into his arms.  
“Hello my boy, you’ve got a name now, yes you have, we’re going to call you Tyrion after your uncle. We hope you’ll be as clever as he is, but less fond of wine.”  
“Seeing you with him is making me fall in love with you all over again, Jaime Lannister.”  
“And I thought I was fortunate you found it in you heart to do that the once.” Jaime began teasingly, then, as he handed her their son, he spoke in a serious tone:  
“You amaze me every day Sansa, I love you so much. To have you and now our son, it is far more than I could hope to deserve.”  
She placed a hand on his cheek.  
“We love you too, Jaime you have done so much to make me happy and I can truly think of no man I would rather have as the father of my children.”

Later Jaime lay on his side in the bed, watching Sansa slumber with their son on her chest. He knew, without doubt, that this was the best day of his life. He could never remember feeling as he did when he looked upon his new family. There was overwhelming pride and love; but also a sense of certainty. So much of Jaime’s life had been based on conflict: become a Kingsguard to keep Cersei, but loose his place as father’s heir: kill Aerys and dishonour himself or let King’s Landing burn: never claim his children as his own or condemn them to death. Now there was no conflict at all, he would stay by Sansa’s side and love her completely and together they would see their children prosper. This marriage had been brought about to claim the North for the Lannisters, but what no one had expected, Jaime least of all, was that it would result in Sansa having such a claim on him. He would not let anyone harm or threaten what they had now and he was ready to destroy those who he knew would try. _Winter is coming and a Lannister always pays his debts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it! Tywin murdered Joffrey! Well done to those who guessed although I’m glad it was’t too obvious. As more than one of you have said, I think Tywin would have offed Joff sooner or later in cannon, had Olenna not beaten him to it. Here the impetus came to do it sooner as a result of Jaime and Sansa’s marriage; there was no way Tywin would sit back and let Joffrey insinuate he had cuckolded Jaime particularly when this developed into claiming he was the father of Sansa’s baby, Tywin killed the rumour in its cradle, if you’ll pardon the pun. Also Tyrion’s guess was right, Tyrion and Cersei served as a distraction, Tywin wasn’t really bothered if they also died, but Joffrey was the only one he ensured was killed.  
> So we have come to end of the story. I know the dead still walk and the dragons are coming, but this fic was always focused on the two central pairings and this was the point I intended on getting to when I started. Having said that I have been thinking about what happens next so maybe I’ll write a sequel…
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has followed the story and shared your thoughts about it with me. I’ve been so surprised and happy that so many others have enjoyed the story and loved getting feedback. I know we often review in the hope of getting more chapters quicker (I have done anyway!) but I would really love it if you could let me know what you thought of the story overall and if you felt like sharing any theories about what might happen next in this AU then that would be lovely too. 
> 
> A special thanks to my lovely Catherina1996 for betaing up to chapter 31 (excluding chapter 15) and for being such an inspiration and source of support and for awakening my latent shipping of these two pairings with her wonderful fic ‘Dancing for You’.


	38. Exerpt from Sequel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting a sequel. Brothers, Sisters, Sons and Daughters (http://archiveofourown.org/works/13543347/chapters/31072659)
> 
> Here's a short excerpt:

The Queen paused then continued in a lighter tone:   
“You were Master of Coin before the position was given to my little brother. Prior to his departure from the capital, he frequently bemoaned the poor state of the royal finances.”  
“Wars are expensive, your Grace, the treasury was always replete under my watch.”  
“My brother seemed to disagree, he was rather fixated on the idea that you had been guilty of some kind of mismanagement. I have no doubt it was his way of covering for his own failings, but as I’m sure you appreciate, now he has the backing of Highgarden, it is not so easy to keep him in his place.”  
Littlefinger could have guessed at her rage about Tyrion’s change in circumstances. He had rather been hoping that this was the purpose of their meeting.  
“I thank you for the warning, your Grace, but there is little I can do if your brother seeks to slander me to cover his own inadequacies. I can hardly wage a war on the Reach!”  
“You do not need to wage a war to rid yourself of one man, my lord.”


End file.
